


A life about to start (when tomorrow comes)

by AStitchinTime



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 124,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AStitchinTime/pseuds/AStitchinTime
Summary: AU:  Set before Phryne arrives in Melbourne, when she leaves Rene, her journey to her parents and beyond.  For some time I have wondered what would have happened if Phryne and Rene had a child, how would she cope?  It's niggled at the back of my mind with no where to go for too long until the weekend when I wept my way through Les Miserables and it came to me.  This will have multiple chapters but I don't know how many.  the first chapter has already been published on fanfiction.
Comments: 58
Kudos: 51





	1. Mistress of her own Fate

Taking up the suitcase with one hand and the sleepy child in her other arm, Phryne looked round the cramped garret that had been her home almost since the end of the war, lifted her chin defiantly and walked out of the door for the last time. It was a gamble, to leave René but she couldn't stay any longer. He was abusive to her and she dreaded what he would do to their tiny daughter, the child he never wanted, that he had told her to get rid of.  
At first, in the thrall of this charismatic, complicated man, she would do anything for him but not that. Not the deliberate destruction of life, not after all she had seen, so she had gone through with the pregnancy, still modelling for Pierre, who delighted in charting the changes in her body, taking the beatings her lover gave her which she was surprised didn't cause her to miscarry, and given birth to the most perfect tiny human she had ever seen.  
Now, three years later, she was leaving. She had squirreled away any spare francs she could in order to pay for their travel and accommodation from Paris to ... to her parents. It was for the best, a better life was waiting out there, if not with her parents somewhere else far away from René. She would take her inheritance from the estate, the trust that had been set up for her and live with Aurelie somewhere ... perhaps she would go back to Australia, the country of her birth, all these decisions she would make in the fullness of time, now she had to get away from Paris.  
She took the tram to the outskirts of the city as the cheapest form of transport then walked as far as she could until she found a small village they could stay in. She rented a room and ate sparingly, making sure her child was fed first. She and Aurelie shared a bed each night, some of the rooms she found were shabby in the extreme, some in houses that were a little suspect but little by little she made her way to Calais where she hoped to be able to take a ferry to England. How she was going to pay for that she had no idea, she had already sold her hair, for a few francs, to cover the cost of some train travel and a night in a grubby pension.   
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They had stopped in a town near Calais. It was late, raining and cold. Finding a room for the night was proving harder than usual, though it had not always been plain sailing, when there was a fracas up ahead, in a small lane.  
Shouts and sounds of a fight had her on alert, so far she had kept Aurelie safe and she didn't intend for that to change.  
"Stay here, ma petite," she whispered, pushing Aurelie into a doorway with the suitcase.  
"Maman?"  
Phryne put her fingers to her lips and smiled.  
"Hey!" she called into the night air, "arrête!"  
There was a scraping of boots on the wet cobbles and the sound of running. Phryne followed the sound and nearly tripped over a figure on the floor.  
"M'sieur?" she crouched down, "are you alright?"  
The man groaned. From what she could see he was elderly, tall and well dressed. He had been beaten about his head with a stick, his cane lay broken on the floor.  
"Can you stand?" she pulled him into a sitting position, "Where do you live?"  
"Mademoiselle," he grunted, "down the street."  
"Come, lean on me, we'll get you home and those wounds cleaned and dressed."  
By the doorway she waved Aurelie to her, "Suitcase, Aurelie," she watched the little girl drag the case across the cobbles to her mother. Phryne lifted it with her free hand, "come on, darling."  
Tired as she was the little girl could see her mother couldn't carry her as well and she stumbled and dragged her feet after her mother.   
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Phryne banged on the door and shouted for an answer.  
"What? Oh my goodness!" the woman who opened the door was a motherly type, obviously not his wife, perhaps a housekeeper, "come, inside, quickly. What happened?"  
"He was attacked, I don't know who by," Phryne gasped, "I need hot water, disinfectant and bandages."  
"Georges!" the woman shouted through, "take the master upstairs."  
There were no questions asked of Phryne, who she was, who the small and silent child was standing there watching the scene play out, they just followed her instructions. She seemed to know what she was doing.  
A manservant helped Phryne put the man to bed, the housekeeper helped her dress his wounds and sent for the doctor.  
"Mademoiselle," the doctor checked his patient, "you have done well, you have experience, non?"  
"The war," she frowned, "I was a nurse and ambulance driver."  
"Bien," he smiled, "M'sieur Juneau is in good hands."   
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The housekeeper looked at the two strays that had entered the house and knew what her master would want.  
"Right," she huffed, "you need to get out of those wet clothes, both of you."  
"Oh," Phryne suddenly came back to who she was, "Aurelie, darling," the child ran over to her, "you are such a good girl to wait for maman. Come, let's get you changed."  
"There is a bathroom down the hall," she was told, "I shall make up a bed for you and your daughter."  
"I shall need to watch him," Phryne nodded at the man sleeping in the bed, "Aurelie can sleep on the couch."  
"You also need to rest," the housekeeper smiled gently and touched her arm.  
Phryne shrugged.   
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With a bowl of hot, thick vegetable soup and crusty bread inside her, Aurelie settled down on the couch in Monsieur Juneau's room. Phryne wrapped her in the soft blankets and left her while she sat at the side of her patient's bed.  
The housekeeper, Mme Gerard, insisted Phryne eat as well, and also provided her with a glass of robust red wine.  
"You are very kind," Phryne sipped the wine as she sat across the bed from her.  
"You probably saved his life," Mme Gerard nodded at her master, "he is a good man, Mademoiselle ...?"  
"Fisher, Phryne Fisher," Phryne smiled.  
"Mademoiselle Fisher," she continued, "he would want you to be at least fed and given a bed for the night."  
"Well," Phryne sighed, "we were looking for somewhere for the night, but I didn't anticipate this."  
"You are travelling?"  
Phryne nodded, but declined to say anymore; if she was to tell her story it would be to M. Juneau first, or maybe to them all at once. Mme Gerard seemed to understand and didn't question her further.   
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Phryne must have fallen asleep, her head on the edge of the bed. Mme Gerard had laid a warm blanket over her shoulders and taken the empty glass and bowl down to the kitchen. She was woken by the softest of touches to her head, smoothing down the short, roughly cut hair.  
"Hm?" she looked up and blinked. "Ah, you're awake," she smiled, "how are you feeling?"  
"Sore, bruised," he muttered, "you are the young lady that helped me?"  
"Phryne Fisher," she stood up and looked at the dressings on his head, "these will need changing."  
"You seem most competent, Mademoiselle," he tried to laugh but it came out as a breathy cough.  
"I was a nurse, during the war," she patted his chest gently, "you rest, I'll call Mme Gerard."   
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She nursed him for almost a week. Changed his bandages, with Mme Gerard's help she bathed him and changed the bed, saw that he ate the meals the housekeeper provided and read to him.  
One evening he asked her to tell him her story.  
"It's not a pretty one, M'sieur," she hummed.  
"They seldom are," he patted her hand, "but you have this beautiful child so there must have been something good in it."  
"Aurelie is the best thing to come out of it," she held the child on her knee while she looked at a picture book Mme Gerard had found somewhere in the house. She told him her story, her life before the war, the war she skipped over, her life with René in Montparnasse and her subsequent fleeing from him.  
"So you will go back to your parents?"  
"I think it is the only option, for now," she nodded and sighed heavily, "perhaps, now I can access my trust fund I can settle down, though my father was a bully and I don't relish being under his roof.  
"Do not be in a rush to leave, my dear," M Juneau hummed, "you are welcome here for as long as you wish to remain."  
"And the talk, M'sieur?" she tipped her head, "I have heard the neighbours question Mme Gerard."  
"We shall say you are my niece, come to stay for a while, or my ward," he laughed, "what do they know, eh? We know the truth, Mademoiselle Fisher, you and I, I do not pay them attention, no, I do not have to explain myself to clucking hens. You would do well to do the same, child," he patted her hand, "you are a good and kind person."  
"And you are a kind and gentle soul, sir," Phryne smiled back, "but, I have told you my story, will you tell me yours?"  
"A bargain, eh? Well, if you will ..."  
He told her he had been a writer, of books, dry books that told facts and not stories that would amuse, but he had made a good living with that and owning a print works. He had had a wife, who gave him a son who in turn gave him heartache and worry. His wife had died, years ago, when the boy was just a school boy.  
"You would have got on well, you and Mireille," he said. "My son, Albert, only comes home when he wants money which he loses in gambling and other practices."  
"And you give it to him," she stroked Aurelie's hair.  
"Not always, Mademoiselle," he shook his head, "sometimes I make him stay and do something in the garden to work off his energies, before I give him some money."   
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Phryne and Aurelie had been with M Juneau for several months. He enjoyed her company, they read together, in English and in French, he insisted on giving her an allowance for her clothes and to get her hair professionally cut in the new bob fashion. At first she had refused his money, that wasn't why she stayed, but he insisted and as Aurelie grew out of her dresses he noted that if she was his 'niece' or his 'ward' then the neighbours would have something to say about how he treated her and the child.  
His son, Albert, did not seem to appreciate all Phryne did for his father. He'd heard about the attack and had hoped that he would find his father on his deathbed and the inheritance he so desperately wanted to get his hands on, within reach. Sadly, for him, his father was in very good spirits and it was one of those times where he was sent out into the garden to do some physical activity. As he dug and lifted earth he thought on how he could get into his father's good books. Maybe the girl was a way - Phryne soon put him straight on that!  
It was at dinner, one evening; Aurelie had been tucked up in bed, in the room she shared with her mother, and M Juneau, Albert and Phryne were dining together in the dining room. Conversation centred on a play M Juneau had taken Phryne to see the previous week and a new book they were planning to read together. Albert had no interest in the arts, until he found out that Phryne had been an artist's model in Paris, and in his mind artist's models who routinely took their clothes off for a living were usually up for more than just being stared at.  
He waited until she retired to bed, leaving father and son to talk. Once his father went to his room he decided what he would try. He knew which room she slept in, just down the corridor from his father, the opposite end to him. He slipped bare footed to her door and pushed it open. She lay with her back to him, her arm over the cover showing the top of her cotton nightdress and her chest rising and falling with each breath. He tiptoed over to her and slid his hand into the bed and over her hip. He felt her stiffen as he breathed in her ear.  
"You won't get your hands on his money, tart," he whispered, "unless ..." he tried to slip his hand between her legs.  
She rolled over and pushed him off her, the thump as he fell to the floor and shouted woke Aurelie.  
"Maman!"  
"Bitch," he hissed and got up, lunging at her, grabbing at her nightgown and tearing it.  
"Maman!" Aurelie screamed, but her maman was fighting with Albert and had no chance to tell her what to do.  
Aurelie ran out of the room shouting, "Uncle Juneau! Uncle Juneau!"  
"Aurelie?" M Juneau came out of his room, tying the belt on his robe, "hush child, what is it?"  
"Maman," she gasped, "M'sieur Albert, he's hurting Maman!"  
She had seen her father beat her mother, that was when she usually hid under the bedclothes and pulled the pillow over her head so she could neither hear nor see what was going on, it was what Maman had told her to do, but this time there was someone who would help.  
M Juneau told her to wait in his room and he would be back soon, it would seem he had to return the favour.   
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Albert was not winning the fight, Phryne had too much practice fending off René's advances when he was drunk, and her father when he had come home after losing money gambling. So far Albert had scratches on his face, his robe sleeve was hanging by a thread and he was nursing bruised shins, a bite to his fore arm when he had tried to restrain Phryne from the back, and very possibly a couple of cracked ribs from being hit with a silver candlestick that had a rather odd dent in it - now.  
"Albert!" M Juneau stood in the doorway, "what is the meaning of this?"  
"She's only after one thing," Albert wiped the blood from his mouth and glanced over at Phryne, clutching her torn nightgown to her breast.  
"And you aren't?" his father glared, "get out! You have darkened my doorstep for the last time!" he roared.  
Albert sloped out of the room with a backward snarl at Phryne.  
"My dear girl," M Juneau advanced towards her, "are you hurt?"  
"Scratches," she swallowed, "Aurelie?"  
"In my room, just a little frightened," he smiled and handed her her robe.  
"M Juneau ..." she didn't quite know what to say.  
"No need for words, my child," he stroked her cheek glad that it did not frighten her, "I was close to disinheriting him, he just hastened the situation."  
"Oh no, he's your son!" she gasped.  
"He's a drunk, a gambler and a potential rapist, Phryne, he's no son of mine." Phryne sensed it was not up for discussion, "now let's go and find that lovely little girl of yours and show her you are alright, eh?" br /> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx   
Life went back to where it had been before Albert. Aurelie was happy which in turn made her mother happy but she knew it couldn't be forever, it was just that it was becoming harder to think of going to her parents in England. She hadn't realised what a toll it had taken on M Juneau, disinheriting Albert, his disappointment in his son, until Mme Gerard noticed he was not eating as heartily as he had done. She mentioned it to Phryne one day in the kitchen.  
"I have noticed, Julie," Phryne used her first name, "I was considering asking the doctor to call, on some pretext perhaps, but what I couldn't say."  
"Aurelie? I mean can you say you want him to check her progress, her growth, perhaps?"  
"Except that she is so healthy and happy," Phryne smiled.  
"And clever, to speak two languages at not quite four years," Mme Gerard laughed.  
"Ah, well, it's easier if she learns both now, rather than having to learn when she is older." Phryne looked out of the window at her daughter who was asking Uncle Juneau what the flowers were called. "She does get them muddled up though, if she can't remember a word in French she says it in English and vice versa."  
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"He is not a young man, Mademoiselle," the doctor shook his head. Phryne had left Aurelie with Uncle Juneau and on the pretext of buying some ingredient or other for Mme Gerard, had gone to call on the doctor and ask his advice. "You have given him light in the darkness of dealing with that son of his, I had half expected him to have passed months ago, and he would have done from the wounds he received in the attack, but no," he laughed, "along comes an angel, Mademoiselle Phryne Fisher, and sees to it that he has a reason to go on longer. I shall call, as a friend, eh? Perhaps to dine one evening, if I time it right, oui?"  
"Oui," she smiled, "at least you can see how he is."   
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"I know, Christian," M Juneau wagged his finger at the doctor and Phryne, "and you Phryne, you conspire against me," he laughed.  
"I ..."  
"Mademoiselle is concerned for your welfare, old friend," the doctor looked at him sternly.  
"I feel it, my child," he looked at Phryne sadly, "but you and Aurelie have made these last months the best for me, the happiest they could be. But all things come to us, and you will not be forgotten."  
"M'sieur," Phryne gasped, he had had the lawyer visit the previous week, but that wasn't unusual.  
"You are my chief beneficiary," he patted her hand, "you receive the bulk of my estate, the house - but you see that Mme Gerard and Georges are settled." He tried to look stern.  
"M'sieur Juneau," she squeezed his hand, "I can't."  
"You can, and you will," he huffed, "I wish it, and you have never gone against my wishes." He watched her, "I do not expect you to stay here, you have other things to do and there is nothing here for a young girl like you."   
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Albert tried to contest the will, but it was to no avail, it was legal and binding. The funeral had been as M Juneau had wanted, quiet with only his little found family attending. Phryne, Mme Gerard and Georges sat around the dining table with a glass of champagne and toasted the old man's memory.  
"Julie, Georges," Phryne put her glass down, "you know what M Juneau's will said."  
They nodded, they hadn't been very surprised.  
"Well, I too have seen the lawyer," she looked at each of them. "I am going to leave the house, and I want you two to stay here, for as long as you want to, forever, if it pleases you. I should have gone to England a year ago, but I was happy here, because of him and you, you made me feel so welcome, part of a family. You have treasured my daughter even though I am not married, you have not held that against me or her, or said I was here for his money, you have been unfailingly kind and generous."  
"This is a big house for just the two of us, Mademoiselle," George twirled his glass.  
"Then take in lodgers," she laughed, "make it into a children's home where the little orphans, the discarded are loved and valued, do as you will but you will not pay a tenancy, not one sou."   
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Aurelie cried as they left, she would miss Julie and her sneaking little nibbles to her, Georges and his letting her 'help' in the pantry or wherever he was working. She had found it difficult to comprehend that she would never see Uncle Juneau again and, though Phryne knew the time was right for her to now continue her journey, she too was sad to leave.   
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Phryne was now a wealthy young woman, wealthier than she had ever been. Not even when her father had taken the title of Baron of Richmond upon Thames did she feel wealthy. Of course she had been much younger then and had not controlled her own money, even her allowance was only for such things she needed for school or for small treats. When she had been serving in the hospital behind the lines she had survived on her pay as a nurse and when she had lived in Paris on what she earned as a model for the artists. Now she was in control but her previous straightened circumstances was in itself control. Everything she bought, the new coat for Aurelie, the shoes and dresses were because they needed them, though she may have been a little excessive on the odd occasion, treating herself to expensive silk lingerie and stockings, Aurelie to a soft teddy bear and ribbons for her blond curls.  
Apart from leaving the house to be run by Julie and Georges she also left them enough money to live on and instructions to the lawyer to contact her if they needed more. She and Aurelie were to travel first class now, in their own compartment on the trains, and in the lounge on the ferry. She had decided they would stay in a hotel in London before travelling to the family home. She had telegrammed her mother and told her her plans, but not what had happened; heavens she had never even told her about Aurelie!  
It was a lot for the little girl to take in, the luxurious surroundings of the hotel they stayed in. Phryne had booked a suite at the Savoy, with a small bedroom solely for her daughter. Aurelie had never had her own bedroom, she had always slept in the same room as: first her parents, separated by a curtain, and latterly, on their travels mostly in the same bed as her mother, even at M Juneau's house.  
"Maman," she tugged her mother's hand, "if I wake in the night ..."  
"You may come into me, darling," Phryne lifted her and hugged her, she knew it would take time before she could sleep in a room on her own.   
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At first, Phryne and Aurelie spent most of their time shopping or taking in the zoo, walking in the parks and when the day's activities were done luxuriating in soapy, bubbly baths together. As the days wore on Phryne knew she should do something with her large legacy, the not inconsiderable wealth she had been left by M Juneau and her trust fund. It was currently sitting in a bank account there in London but she thought perhaps she should invest some. She also had to see the family lawyer about her trust fund. She had always been a clever girl, astute with her allowance small though it had been, so she made an appointment with a financial advisor recommended by her bank manager.  
Armed with her papers, proof of her identity and having left Aurelie in the care of one of the chambermaids at the hotel, Phryne Fisher headed to the office of a well respected advisor.   
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The evening light was fading when she left the offices. The advisor had recommended certain companies, industries to invest in, ways to have her money work for her. He had sent out for lunch while they worked but in the end she had what she wanted. Her investments were varied to take account of the movements of the markets, she had decided on a sum to set aside as a trust for her daughter and signed so many papers her hand ached. She headed back to the hotel hoping Aurelie had been happy. She had left a phone number should she need to be contacted but there had been no call. She would spoil the child the following day, just because she could.  
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Aurelie flung herself into her mother's arms, warm and sweet smelling from her bath and Phryne hugged her and drank in the scent of love.  
"Maman!" Aurelie squealed.  
"Ma petite," Phryne laughed, "ready for bed I see."  
"I had ice cream," she giggled.  
"Did you now," Phryne glanced across at the chambermaid, "and did you like it? What flavour did you have?"  
"Chocolate," she licked her lips. "Maud had some too."  
"Thank you, Maud," Phryne put her daughter back on her feet, "for giving up your day off."  
"I enjoyed it, Miss," Maud dipped a little curtsey, "Miss Aurelie is a lovely little girl, she behaves beautifully."  
"I'm glad to hear it," Phryne handed over the agreed fee for the nannying duties. "May I call on you again, if need be? I thought I might attend one or two of the dances here and I would like someone to sit with her."  
"Oh yes, Miss, I'd be delighted," Maud smiled.  
"Good, Friday?"  
"Yes, Miss, Friday is fine," she nodded.  
Phryne had decided that she ought to try and have some adult enjoyment now. She'd done nothing but care for an elderly man and her daughter for over a year and though she did not begrudge one second of that time, she felt she should show her face in society again. When she got home she was sure her mother would arrange parties, dinners and soirees all of which would be tiring and sometimes hideously boring as she was introduced to eligible bachelors. Since she had left René she had not entertained a man, not even as a dinner partner. All the men in her life had been controlling, bullies, the one she had given her heart to had taken it and shredded it into a million pieces and she could not imagine herself in that situation ever again. If she was to engage with the male of the species it was going to be on her terms from now on. She was over twenty five and Mistress of her own Fate.   
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"Maman," Aurelie looked her mother up and down, "you look very pretty."  
"Thank you, sweetheart." Phryne turned around in front of the mirror. The black of her gown emphasised her pale skin yet it didn't make her look ill as it did some. The gown was of black silk net over a black silk slip with shoestring straps. The net over-gown was sleeveless and the round neckline was beaded with silver beads as was the dropped waist, both in a leaf and petal design. The skirt was lightly gathered to add substance and weight. She accessorised it with a silver hair decoration and a silver chiffon wrap that she held loosely around her arms.  
"You be good for Maud, now," she bent and kissed Aurelie's forehead, leaving a lipstick imprint, "she will read to you and put you to bed, alright."  
"Yes, Maman," Aurelie nodded, "can we have ice cream?"  
"No you cannot," Phryne laughed, "but maybe tomorrow?"  
Aurelie pouted and sighed.   
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx< br /> Phryne took a deep breath before she entered the ballroom. She was a tad nervous, attending a dance or ball unescorted, unchaperoned was not the 'done' thing but she knew no man who she could ask to perform that duty so, reminding herself she was her own woman and didn't need a man she stepped into the throng. There were too many people around to notice the young lady arrive and she was able to slip in and around before finding some champagne and standing at the side to observe. Pretty soon she was noticed by a young man. He was tall and well groomed, good looking, fair haired and slim built.  
"Excuse me, Miss," he murmured, "I wondered if you would favour me with the next dance."  
"Oh, well," she pretended to consider the matter, if she didn't find a dance partner soon she may as well go back to the suite, "thank you, Mr ...?"  
"Steel," he bowed his head a little, "George Steel."  
"Phryne Fisher," she offered hand, "pleased to meet you."  
"And I you," he bent over her hand and kissed it, "I, er ... I don't think I've seen you here before."  
"No, I have recently returned from some years in France."  
The music started up for a waltz and he took her confidently in his arms. He was a good dancer and she was able to follow him easily, while reminding herself it had been years since she waltzed.  
He asked her, while they were dancing, what she had been doing in France and she was partially honest in that she said she had served but otherwise she had just been in Paris, she wasn't sure how he would take waltzing a former artist's model.  
"Interesting times," he murmured in her ear.  
"Indeed," she pulled back a little, "they were."  
As the evening wore on and she was taken to the floor by various men, young and not so young she found she was enjoying herself. She also realised that she needed some dance lessons, the newer dances had not come into her sphere in Montparnasse; all the ballroom dances she was proficient in, but the new Charleston and jazz style dances while not being as tight in their steps still needed a few lessons. She was heading to the family home in Somerset in a few days time, she wondered if she could find a dance teacher between now and then and perhaps one to teach her in private; maybe Aurelie as well, though at only just four years old she was a little young.   
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She managed to catch one more dance before she packed up their things and set out for Somerset. Somerset ... she had taken the time to write a letter to her mother to ask her to see that a small bed for Aurelie was either in a room next to hers or in the dressing room attached to her suite. She explained that Aurelie was just past her fourth birthday, that she was her daughter and that was it. Nothing about Aurelie's father, or whether she was married or widowed or the truth ... that she was neither. It wasn't that she had lost complete touch with her mother it was just that letters had been irregular and in the Baroness' case filled with disappointment at her life as an artist's model. She had frequently entreated her daughter to return home and resume her life as the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Phryne knew that this meant find a suitable man and marry. But Phryne had been young and headstrong and didn't regret a minute of her life so far, not even René, not really, after all without him there would be no Aurelie and she loved Aurelie, totally, unconditionally. She had wondered if René would come after her, would chase her down and drag her back to Montparnasse, he knew who her family was, she had made no secret of it and they would be easy to trace. So far she had been lucky, she supposed and hoped it would remain that way.   
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It was quite a long journey but they travelled by train in a first class compartment, something that gave her much pleasure now that she didn't have to cram them into a gap in third class with all sorts of people that usually unnerved Aurelie. They had a light lunch in the restaurant car, Aurelie was on her best behaviour, she had been taught her manners with M Juneau and she was polite to the waiter and thanked him most sweetly for her lunch. No other children were in the restaurant car and she did get some sniffy looks and raised eyebrows when she was heard to converse both in English and in French.  
"I think, Ma petite," Phryne wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and Aurelie copied her, "le salle de bain et une petite sieste, oui?"  
Aurelie nodded, "Oui, Maman." She slipped out of her seat and took Phryne's hand to leave the car. As she past the waiter she looked up and smiled, "Au revoir, M'sieur." He saluted her smartly and smiled.   
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Phryne sat reading while Aurelie napped with her head on her lap, or she tried to. In point of fact her mind drifted to the possible reception she would get from her parents. She had timed the letter to arrive with no time for her mother to reply so she supposed that at worst she could be told never to darken their doorstep again. She hoped not, she wanted them to know their granddaughter and she didn't want to flit from hotel to hotel.  
The train drew into the station, brakes squealing which woke Aurelie from her nap. She rubbed her eyes and Phryne took a second to tidy her , set her small cloche on her head and smooth down both their coats before they alighted and the guard loaded their trunks and suitcases onto a trolley. She smiled at the sight, considering the small battered suitcase she had had when she left the little garret she must have done a lot of shopping.  
It had been so long since she had been home that she wouldn't know the new chauffeur her parents had employed so he had been sent with a card with her name on.  
"Maman!" Aurelie tugged her hand, "la!" She pointed to a liveried chauffeur holding the name card and looking rather bored.  
"Well done sweetheart," she smiled down at her, "what a clever girl you are."  
Aurelie glowed with pride and skipped happily beside her mother.  
"Miss Phryne Fisher?" the man hummed.  
"I am."  
"Simkins, Miss, chauffeur," he turned and opened the door, "is that all your luggage?" he eyed the trolley.  
"It is," she smiled, "might be a bit of a squeeze."  
"Well, Miss," he pushed his cap back and scratched his head, "I doubt we'll get all that in and you and the little one."  
"Well," she laughed, "let's see how much, Aurelie and I are happy to sit up front, aren't we darling?"  
Aurelie nodded, "Can I sit on your knee, Maman?"  
"You'll have to," she nodded.  
Surprisingly the car, a Rolls Royce silver ghost, was able to accommodate all the luggage and the passengers, with Aurelie sitting on her mother's knee in the front. It was new to Phryne but she was glad her parents had purchased a good sized car, she had a mind to drive something a little more sporty, speedy; she would have a look and see what was available.  
Aurelie stared out of the window as they headed up the drive to the house. There were green fields and trees to the right and left, then grand wrought iron gates that led through to a central planted island and fountain. The gravel drive went right around and Simkins drew up in front of the round portico where Baron and Baroness Fisher stood waiting to greet their daughter and granddaughter.   
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A few days earlier:  
"Phryne's coming home, Henry," Margaret read the letter at the breakfast table, "she's in London, apparently." She turned to look at him, "Oh, Henry," tears of joy spilled down her cheeks, "she's coming back to us, isn't it wonderful?"  
"I knew she would, love," he smiled, "eventually. She couldn't stay away forever, it will be good to see her."  
"Well, she says she's finished in France, oh I didn't like her modelling for artists, dear, they are so ... so ... bohemian. I mean, the things they would ask her to do ..."  
"Hm," he frowned, "well, love," he took another slice of toast, "she's done with all that. What else does she say?"  
Margaret hummed and muttered as she read down the letter, "please can you make up a small bed either in the dressing room off my suite or a room very close by. I have a daughter, she's just four years old ... a daughter?!"  
Henry nearly choked on his toast and took a glug of coffee, "A daughter? Does she mention a husband?"  
Margaret scanned down the page, "NO! Oh Henry, not out of wedlock, surely? What will people say?"  
"They don't have to know, Margaret," he thought quickly, "when she tells us the full story we can work round that."  
"It's those damned artists," she scowled, "I knew there'd be trouble."  
"Margaret," he soothed, "she's coming home, you've wanted that for so long, let's just take one day at a time, eh? Now, she says she wants to have a room made up for ... does she say what her name is, this child?"  
"Er, oh, yes, Aurelie," she huffed, "not even a proper English name."  
"Neither's Phryne," he muttered.  
"It was supposed to be Psyche," she reminded him of his drunken registering of their eldest daughter's birth.  
"That's not English, either," he smiled, "it's Greek. Pretty name, though - Aurelie."  
She sighed and shook her head.  
Margaret had the dressing room in Phryne's suite set up for Aurelie while the rooms were being cleaned to within an inch of existence. New drapes, were hung at the windows, new covers on the beds, the chimneys were swept, the rugs beaten and the mirrors polished. The small sitting room that Phryne used to sulk in when she was in trouble was given a thorough dusting, all the books were taken out and cleaned, the couch and tables were cleaned and everything was set ready for the young ladies to be comfortable in.  
Margaret wondered if she should assign one of the maids to be a nursemaid or nanny for Aurelie - how was Phryne bringing her up? Probably to run around with no regard for adults and proper behaviour. In all likelihood the child ran around barefoot in some sort of shift and as she had been born and brought up in France probably didn't even speak English. She huffed and suggested to one of the younger maids they may need her to mind the child on occasion.  
"I don't know how my daughter has been raising her," she admitted, "so it is only an idea."  
"Very well, my lady," the maid bobbed a curtsey, "I'll be quite happy to look after the little mite if necessary."  
So everything was now ready and, as Phryne had hoped, there was little time for Margaret to think too hard about any trouble Phryne had got herself into.   
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Aurelie's eyes were like saucers as she looked at the house. Maman had said it was big but this was enormous!  
"Is this really Grandpapa's house?" she whispered in awe.  
"And Grandmama's," Phryne kissed her, "are you ready to meet them?"  
"I think so," she nodded, "is that them?" She pointed to the two people standing by the front door.  
"It is," Phryne took a deep breath.  
Simkins got out and went to open the passenger door. He held out his hand to help Aurelie down, she had already charmed him, Phryne was convinced she could charm the birds from the trees.  
"Thank you, M'sieur Simkins," she whispered.  
"You are welcome, Miss Aurelie," he looked up and offered his hand to Phryne, "Miss."  
"Thank you, Simkins," she smiled, "I expect someone will come out to help you with the luggage."  
"Mr Richards will, I expect or Boots," he agreed.  
"Richards, is he still going?"  
"Yes, Miss." he nodded, the butler was getting on in years, Phryne had expected him to have been pensioned off.  
"Best hope it's Boots then," she laughed.  
"Miss," he smiled.  
"Right," she took Aurelie's hand, "let's go and introduce you."   
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Henry and Margaret watched their daughter approach, the little girl next to her, holding her hand. Margaret was surprised to see Aurelie beautifully and correctly dressed. She wore a red coat with caped shoulders, fitted and flared. Her little cloche hat matched and had a self coloured flower in the band. She wore white stockings and matching red bar shoes. Her strawberry blond curls were caught at one side with a red ribbon. Phryne was in a dark green travelling suit; the jacket was long and straight fastening over her left hip and with a high collar, the skirt was just past her knees and in a complimentary check. She wore a matching cloche hat and shoes. Elegant.  
Henry, sensing his wife's hesitation, advanced with hands outstretched but given his fractured relationship with his daughter he wasn't surprised that she showed some reticence before reaching out to him.  
"Phryne, my dear girl," he beamed, "at last." He kissed her cheek, "you look marvellous."  
"Hello, father," she returned the kiss, "how are you?"  
"Wonderful, darling, now that you are home," he put his arm round her, "and this must be Aurelie?" he looked down at the little girl, trying to hide behind her mother's skirt. This man was a bit loud.  
Phryne bent down and lifted her daughter into her arms, "Aurelie, ma petite, this is your Grandpapa."  
Aurelie looked at him, and at this level he wasn't quite so imposing. She held out her little hand, like she had seen her mother do when being introduced to a gentleman and he took it and kissed it softly.  
"So pleased to make your acquaintance," he murmured.  
"Hello, Grandpapa," she smiled.  
"Such a pretty little girl, Phryne, like you when you were small, though you were always dark haired." He turned to his wife, still standing on by the door. "Come on, you two, let's go and see Grandmama, eh?"  
Margaret had watched her husband greet their daughter and was pleased to at the interaction. Up to Phryne leaving for the front they had usually traded insults and blows, it was nice to see them apparently on good terms. She stepped down to greet them herself, noting that Henry seemed to have alarmed the child, but she may not have understood him.  
"Phryne, darling," Margaret held out her arms, "I am so happy you decided to come home, I - we have missed you."  
"Hello, mother, you look well," Phryne let her hug her and kiss her cheek, "this is Aurelie, your granddaughter."  
Margaret smiled and patted her cheek, as Phryne knew well Aurelie would and had charmed her already.  
"This is Grandmama, sweetie," she adjusted her hold on the child.  
Aurelie reached out and touched Margaret's cheek. "Hello, Grandmama," she smiled, "you're pretty."  
"And your hands are cold," Margaret laughed and rubbed the little hands between her palms, "where are your gloves?"  
"She probably lost them, again," Phryne rolled her eyes.  
"Non, Maman," Aurelie shook her head, "they're here." She pulled them from up her sleeves and giggled, Aurelie didn't like wearing her gloves.  
"You little scamp," Phryne jiggled her, "come on, let's go and warm you up." She put Aurelie down and allowed her to walk into the house with her Grandmama. For now things seemed good between them but in the coming days there would be questions, definitely arguments or heated discussions. but for now she would get settled in, reacquaint herself with life as the Honourable Phryne Fisher and see where it would lead.


	2. Chrysalis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Aurelie start to adjust to living in the family home. Somewhat domestic but we will begin to see the Phryne we know, and she will start to see her life will change, she begins to see she has to be more than Aurelie's mother, to be the best mother she can be.

Curious as Margaret was about her daughter's life in Paris these past years, she knew that to start interrogating her immediately upon her arrival was not going to go well. Henry had said to take it gently, just be glad she was home. The question of her granddaughter's parentage would have to wait. While Phryne, Aurelie and a maid were up in her suite unpacking, sorting out the child's room and showing her around she sat in the small parlour and thought about what she had seen. She had been surprised that both Aurelie and Phryne were dressed appropriately for daughters of the aristocracy and not the bohemian style she expected, that Aurelie apparently spoke English and one thing struck her was her colouring, the fair curls were somehow reminiscent of Janey's, her younger, sadly deceased, daughter. They had time to discuss things, what Phryne was going to do with her life: was she going to settle here, or find her own home with someone respectable?  
"Margaret?" Henry stepped in to the room, "alright?"  
"Hm? Just thinking," she smiled, "what's going to happen now."  
"Time, love," he sat opposite her, "time will tell."  
"I suppose so."  
"Aurelie's a sweet little thing," he commented.  
"Yes ... yes she is," she agreed, "but, Henry," she lowered her voice, "Phryne, I mean ..."  
"... not married? Not a lot we can do about it now, Margaret," he sighed, "she's here, she has the child ..."  
"... and everyone will put two and two together and make four, it's obvious isn't it? She's away for years then turns up with a child in tow."  
Henry could be rash, reckless and sometimes completely oblivious to other people's feelings, particularly those of his wife and daughter, but this time he seemed to be more understanding. He was glad Phryne was home, not least because she now had access to her trust fund and he might be able to con a few pounds out of her, but he was glad to see her safe. He knew nothing about the legacy M Juneau had left her, and Phryne wanted to keep it that way, at least the extent of it.   
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Upstairs Aurelie was getting to know the maid, Mary, who had told Miss Phryne she had been asked to see to the little miss whenever necessary.  
"Thank you, Mary," Phryne had had a feeling her parents would expect Aurelie to be 'seen and not heard', "I've looked after Aurelie myself so far, but it would be nice if you could entertain her if there is a dinner or guests. Do my parents still have some horses?"  
"Yes, miss, his Lordship rides a little but they are mainly for guests."  
"Good, I'll go over to the stables tomorrow," Phryne smiled, "perhaps see about a pony for Aurelie and she loves flowers, being in a garden, so you could take her out for walks."  
"Of course, miss, I'm sure we'll find plenty to do."  
"Lovely, but I will still do most of it, she is my daughter." Phryne insisted. "Now, I expect mother is having tea?"  
"It is usually in the small parlour, miss," Mary nodded.  
"Good, we could do with a drink, couldn't we, ma petite?" Phryne looked at her daughter, sitting watching things be put away.  
"Will Miss Aurelie be joining you, miss?" Mary raised an eyebrow.  
"... and for dinner," Phryne nodded, it was too soon to consign Aurelie to eating her meals with Mary, if she ever did that. She hoped not, except when there were guests. When her father had taken the title she had been too old to be left in the nursery with a nanny, they had settled in fairly quickly and Phryne had been sent to boarding school. When she had been at home she had eaten with her parents and any visitors having been deemed old enough to be able to converse with her elders and betters. Sometimes it had been dreadfully boring and she had managed to excuse herself immediately after the meal, citing homework or an early appointment the following day. There were some parties where there were younger people who she could dance with, some her parents had invited with the sole idea of aligning their family with another well connected and wealthy family through marrying Phryne off. Aurelie aside, that had never been her life plan.   
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And so it started: Margaret just raised an eyebrow when Aurelie was led into the parlour for tea. The maid was sent to get her a glass of milk and she sat prettily next to her mother as she ate, without leaving crumbs, her small sandwich, cake and biscuit. She answered any questions put to her politely but mainly stayed silent and looked around her. The room was full of pretty ornaments and vases of flowers, a fire was lit against the cool autumn day and the flames made pretty pictures in the grate.  
“Is there anything else you would like, dear?” Margaret asked when she didn’t take a second biscuit.  
“No, thank you, Grandmama,” she shook her head, “that was very nice.”  
“Right, good, glad you enjoyed it,” the Baroness breathed deeply, she was out of the habit of talking to small children.  
“Aurelie needs to leave room for dinner, don’t you darling?” Phryne slipped her arm round her shoulders. Her daughter looked up at her and smiled.  
“Yes, maman,” she nodded.  
“Won’t it be a little late for her?” Margaret looked surprised.  
“I hope not, she usually dined with us in St Omer, with M Juneau and the household there,” Phryne looked up at her mother, “and it is only us – isn’t it?”  
“Of course, dear, I just thought, she’s just a child …” Margaret stuttered and wondered who M Juneau was.  
“I’m sure we can accommodate Aurelie,” Henry interrupted, probably against his better judgment but he didn’t want there to be a row over whether or not a child should dine with adults. “It’s their first night here, my dear, let’s relax and get to know our granddaughter, eh?”  
“Thank you, father,” Phryne decided not to let her surprise show at her father’s sweetness, and it would mean they wouldn’t ask too many questions about what happened in France, that could wait.   
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Phryne changed into a short evening dress; dark green velvet with a slash neckline, over laid with black lace and a satin rosette on the left shoulder. She dressed Aurelie in a similar coloured dress, lightly gathered from a yoke and with a neat little white collar. She added a green ribbon to her hair and Mary declared she looked very pretty.  
“Is maman pretty as well?” Aurelie looked across at Phryne touching up her make-up.  
“Your maman is quite beautiful, Miss Aurelie,” Mary confirmed.  
Aurelie beamed, she’d always thought so.   
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Dinner was quiet, they talked about M Juneau, mainly, how they had come to meet him and how Phryne had acted as a companion of sorts while they were there. She didn’t say why she had left Paris and neither of her parents brought up Aurelie’s father, in fact both Margaret and Henry were surprised the little girl didn’t mention him. Margaret made the decision to tackle her daughter about him the following day, as for now, as Henry said, it was just nice to have her back. Aurelie ate her dinner politely, as she always did, in fact Margaret commented on it, how good her table manners were.  
“Of course, mother,” Phryne smiled, “what did you think, that I have brought her up to be a little savage? She’s always been a tidy eater, comes of having to eat whatever has been put in front of her, that or go without.”  
Phryne had always fed Aurelie before René arrived back at the garret from wherever he had been. She could then tuck her up into bed and take what her lover threw at her. She did her best with the cooking, after modelling for Pierre, but with little money to spend on ingredients quite often it was little more than a watery soup. Sometimes Veronique, Pierre’s wife, would send her home with a bowl of vegetables that she could bulk out the meal with but they also had to eat. Bread was the filler at most meals, cheap, rough wine took the edge off her hunger and the pain of the beatings she got. There was more hate and hurt than the love and laughter she had first known in those last days before she took Aurelie away. Her own childhood had not been good, Henry had not been a good father, beaten her when she stood up for herself and Janey, shut her in a cupboard to break her spirit and she didn’t want that for Aurelie. She was stronger than her mother and she had been sure that, even though she was going back to her parents she could protect her own daughter and show her that there were good people in the world. None of this was a subject she wanted to bring up at the dinner table here, in the family home, and she was hoping Aurelie’s memories were beginning to fade. She was so young, she never spoke of those times but she did remember how kind Uncle Juneau had been to her and Phryne wanted her to remember them, to hold that kindness in her heart. Her comment about the food struck a chord with Margaret, it reminded her of the time she had gone hungry to feed her girls something, anything that she could make from the scraps she was able to afford; it would seem that Phryne had lived the same way. It wasn’t something she had wanted her own daughter to go through. It did seem she had come out the other side relatively unscathed, if one ignored the matter of an illegitimate child.   
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Phryne took Aurelie up to bed.  
“Quick bath, cherie,” she turned on the taps, “then into bed and a story, if you want one.”  
Aurelie yawned, it had been a long day, Phryne didn’t think they’d get as far as a story.  
They didn’t.  
The bath was warm and soothing, and the towel was soft and cosy. Aurelie was almost asleep when Phryne lay her in the bed and tucked her in, just how she liked it.  
“Sweet dreams, darling,” Phryne kissed her forehead, “see you in the morning.” But there was not reply from her little girl, she was fast off as soon as her head hit the pillow – if not before.   
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“It can’t happen all the time, though Henry,” Margaret was saying, “Aurelie should eat earlier, we can’t have adult conversation with a four year old at the table.”  
“Don’t worry, mother,” Phryne appeared in the doorway, “it won’t, or at all if you don’t want it too. But there have been so many changes this past year for her that I should be with her. I am happy for her to eat separately if you have guests and some nights, or we can eat together and you and father can dine later. I have to see what we are going to do. She will be starting school next year …”  
“I’ll ask around for a governess,” Margaret interrupted, “until she’s old enough for boarding school.”  
“Actually, I was thinking of the local school,” Phryne helped herself to a cup of coffee from the tray, “she can learn to play with other children, and I’m not sure about boarding school.”  
“But the local school is for …”  
“…local children? Yes, mother it is,” Phryne sat down opposite her mother, “it was good enough for me and Janey, a free school.”  
“Phryne,” her mother lowered her voice as if the walls were listening, “people will ask questions,” this was not a subject she wanted to bring up this evening, she had hoped to wait until the following day, “her … “ she cleared her throat, “her father …”  
“None of their damn business,” Phryne huffed, not surprised at the turn in the conversation, “and you are not to ask Aurelie about him, either. He’s out of our lives and I want it to stay that way.”  
“You didn’t marry him, did you?” Margaret scowled.  
“No!”  
“Phryne, love,” Henry butted in, “your mother is just trying …”  
“Father, mother, both of you ….” She sighed, “it is not something I wish to discuss. I left him for very good reasons, that part of my life is over. He never wanted Aurelie, wanted me to get rid of her, but I have seen too much death and destruction, I couldn’t do that … end of story.”  
Margaret opened her mouth to say something else but Phryne put her hand up.  
“I think I shall go up to bed,” she put her cup down, “goodnight.”   
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It was no less than she expected – the conversation – but although she knew Aurelie should start her education in the coming months suggesting she attend the local school had been a spur of the moment idea, more to annoy her mother than anything, but thinking about it, it would be good for her daughter to be around children of her own age.   
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She woke early, a small warm something curled up against her, Aurelie must have woken in the night, something she had done less and less, and only when she was worried. It was a concern, if she did that on her first night here, in her grandparents’ home, was she not going to settle? Phryne thought for a while, they probably wouldn’t stay, not forever. It was rash to think of leaving now, so soon after getting there, but in the future, yes, they would leave. Coming back to her parents had brought up memories, and with Aurelie lying beside her, just like Janey used to, and with her colouring being similar, she had questions to ask. In the intervening years had any more been done about her disappearance?  
“Not now,” she muttered to herself, “but someday, I will find out.”  
“Maman?”  
“Sorry, Cherie,” she kissed Aurelie good morning, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
Aurelie stretched like a cat and smiled, “Bonjour, maman.”  
“Bonjour, ma petite, dormez bien?”  
“Oui, merci,” she snuggled closer.  
Phryne wanted to keep her French up and her parents didn’t speak it, it would be their own secret language. She gave a breathy laugh.  
“Bien,” she hugged her close, “maintenant, allons-y …”  
“Petit dejeuner?” Aurelie’s eye’s widened, she was hungry.  
“Wash, dress, first,” Phryne gave a bright laugh. “Breeches today, I’m taking you to see the horses.”   
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Phryne was glad neither of her parents were in the dining room when she and her daughter entered, giggling. She surveyed the breakfast dishes and set a bowl of porridge and honey for Aurelie with a glass of orange juice on the table and bade her eat. She chose some eggs and toast and coffee. She may have to speak to cook about the coffee, she found it a little on the weak side.   
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With a full stomach Aurelie was ready to see the horses and perhaps ride with her mother. Phryne had suggested she sit with her, see how she liked it before maman bought her a pony. She had only seen horses in the streets in Paris, never up close and certainly never to ride. Phryne admitted, to herself and no one else, that she was a little rusty but it would probably come back to her. There was bound to be a gentle mount she could ride for now, her father wasn’t much of a rider, it was only for show, so his horse would probably be best.  
“Well, well, Miss Phryne,” the groom laughed, “heard you was back.”  
“Goodness, Walter? You were the stable boy when I left,” she grinned at the familiar, but now weather-beaten face.  
“Rose through the ranks, Miss,” he nodded, “now, which horse would you like?”  
“I haven’t ridden for some years, Walter,” she looked down the yard, “and I want my daughter to ride with me, see how she does before I think about getting her her own pony.”  
“Well,” he pushed his cap back and scratched his head, “I think, Silver Lady, quiet grey and she’ll be ok with the little Miss as well.” News had got round the estate, servants’ gossip, and he wasn’t surprised to see the little girl.  
Walter saddled up the horse and brought it out to the mounting step. He held her while Phryne introduced herself to her, stroked her head and offered her a piece of carrot.  
“Here, like this,” she put a piece of the vegetable on Aurelie’s palm and helped her to hold it up, “it’s ok, she won’t hurt you.”  
If there was one thing Aurelie knew about her mother, it was she would never, ever put her in danger, she always protected her so she allowed her to hold her and steady her as the horse gently lifted the treat with her lips.  
She giggled, “It tickles,” she looked at Phryne and smiled.  
“It does,” Phryne nodded, “now, you wait while I get up and Walter will lift you up to me, alright?”  
Aurelie agreed and stood back a little to watch her mother mount the horse and Walter adjusted the stirrup length.  
“How’s that, Miss?”  
“Perfect, Walter, now would you mind handing Aurelie up to me, please?”  
“Come here, Miss Aurelie,” he beckoned the child over and put his hands under her arms, “up we go!” He swung her up to Phryne who caught her and settled her in front of her.  
“Now, hold on to her mane, and squeeze your legs together,” Phryne showed her how to place her hands, “I’ve got you, see? Off we go.”  
“Where shall we go, maman?” Aurelie laughed then looked down at Walter, “merci, M’sieur.”  
Walter just smiled, whatever the little miss had said sounded polite.  
“Thank you, Walter,” Phryne smiled, “I think we shall head towards the village, perhaps a bun and a glass of milk at the tea rooms?”  
“Still going, Miss Phryne,” Walter nodded as she clicked the horse onwards.   
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Silver Lady was as Walter had said, quiet and calm. Phryne pointed out things they could see, places she had been when she was younger, even trees she had climbed; though she did ask Aurelie to wait a few years before she tried that.  
“Je peux voir le monde entier,” Aurelie gasped, wide-eyed.  
“Just the village, darling,” Phryne laughed.  
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” she pointed into the distance.  
“Oh, I think it is the village preparing for the harvest festival,” Phryne squinted ahead, “there used to be a fair, rides, sideshows,” she thought back, “I shall ask at the tea shop. Would you like to go?”  
“Yes, please, maman,” she bounced a little, “will Grandmama and Grandpapa come too?”  
“Sit still, cherie,” Phryne tightened her hold on her, “I don’t know, perhaps. Grandmama used to award a prize for the best fancy dress costume …” that could be awkward if Aurelie wanted to dress up. She didn’t add that Grandpapa used to sample the cider and beer made locally. She hoped he could be persuaded to be a little more temperate this year – if he attended. She had used to avoid him at the end of the day, when he was in his cups, she didn’t want Aurelie to see him like that. Her own father was bad enough.  
She slowed the horse down as they came into the village, pausing to look around at old familiar places, the pub, the church, the little school, the post office and grocers … and the little tea room.  
“Well, here you are,” a voice called from the side, “we heard you were back, Miss.” A cheerful, motherly woman came across the road wiping her hands on her apron. “Hoped it wouldn’t be too long before you showed your face.”  
“Hello Mrs Allison,” Phryne grinned, “still here, I see.”  
“Take a lot to drag me away, Miss Phryne,” she took the bridle of the horse and led them over to the trough and rail, “fresh batch of currant buns just out of the oven, if you’ve a mind to step inside.”  
“You must have read my mind, just what I suggested to Aurelie, here.”  
“Pass the little miss down to me, Miss Phryne,” Mrs Allison held up her arms, “then you can get down easier.”  
“This is Mrs Allison, Aurelie, she makes the best buns outside of London,” Phryne lifted her daughter down, “Paris even.”  
“Hello, Mrs Allison,” Aurelie smiled, “it is nice to meet you.”  
“And you too, Miss Aurelie, is it?”  
Aurelie nodded.  
“Pretty name, not one I’ve heard before,” she watched Phryne tie up the horse.  
“You probably hadn’t heard ‘Phryne’ before you met me, either,” Phryne laughed, “it’s French, it means ‘Golden’.”  
“Well, her hair certainly is,” Mrs Allison led them into the tea room, “usual table, Miss?”  
As a young girl Phryne had loved to sit in the window, watching the comings and goings of the local people, the children running to and from school or playing with dogs and kittens – two things she wasn’t allowed.  
“That would be lovely, thank you.”  
“Tea for you, Miss Phryne,” Mrs Allison dusted non-existent crumbs from the table, “fresh milk for Miss Aurelie?”  
“Marvellous,” Phryne took off her hat and put it on her lap, Aurelie copied her.   
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They spent a happy hour eating fresh, warm currant buns and talking about all the things that had gone on in the village since Phryne was last there. She learnt of the men who didn’t come back, those that came back damaged both physically and mentally, the children that had grown up and moved on, and those that had stayed.  
“But we keep going, Miss,” Mrs Allison smiled and wiped the table, “not much else changes. You’ll have seen the harvest fair being set up?”  
“I did wonder if it still went on,” Phryne nodded.  
“Since the time of the Domesday Book, Miss,” she laughed.  
“Does my mother still judge the fancy dress competition?”  
“Ah, now that has changed, vicar’s wife does that, her Ladyship does the cakes now …”  
“Nobody will stand a chance against your currant buns, Mrs Allison,” Phryne laughed.  
“Heavens, Miss and you know I don’t enter,” she shook her head, “too busy baking for the lunch tent, pies, tarts … sausage rolls … “  
“In that case, we’d better make sure we put in an appearance. Aurelie has never been to a country fair, being born in France,” Phryne stood up and help out her hand to her daughter, “come on ma petite, time to go.”  
Aurelie pulled her hat onto her head and smiled at Mrs Allison.  
“Au revoir, Madame,” she waved to her.  
“Good bye, dearie, see you at the fair.”   
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“I didn’t realise you had gone to the village,” Margaret caught then as they went back into the house. “I thought you had just gone for a ride round the estate.”  
“We went for a currant bun at the tea rooms,” Phryne smiled, “run along to Mary, darling,” she bent to Aurelie sensing an argument approaching, “have her help you put your coat away and change into that blue dress I put out for you, please.”  
“Yes, maman,” Aurelie ran off, “hello, Grandmama,” she called over her shoulder.  
“Phryne,” Margaret caught her arm, “now everyone will know.”  
“Know what, mother? That I have a child? What do you want me to do, confine her to the attic?” Phryne scowled, “they only know I have a child, they do not know that I don’t have a husband, unless you have told them, for all they know I could be a widow. Really, mother …” she huffed and went to change out of her riding clothes.   
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Phryne knew that tongues would be wagging, and as far as her mother was concerned she had shamed the family. To take Aurelie into the village was possibly one of the worst things she could do if she wanted to keep her parents happy. But she did want Aurelie to be known around the village, she was going to take her to the fair, she was going to send her to the local school to learn to read and write and to meet other children. She didn’t want her to be brought up in the bubble of the aristocracy, she wanted her to know people, real people; where they came from, what they did for a living, that not everybody had wealth, but that everybody had a purpose. She didn’t think it had done her any harm. It was a storm she would have to weather – for now.   
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The day of the fair was cool but dry. Aurelie was excited, kept asking questions which Phryne just answered with a ‘we’ll have to see’. She had no idea Margaret had tried to persuade Phryne not to go, not to take her.  
“I’ve already said we’ll go, mother,” she had folded her arms and glared, “I know what it’s like to be disappointed, to be told something I was looking forward to was cancelled, I am never going to disappoint her like you and father disappointed me, and Janey before she disappeared.”  
“It was a question of money, Phryne,” her mother implored, “we couldn’t afford it, you know how it was.”  
“Yes, I do, but at the same time you shouldn’t have promised us.” Phryne growled, “I am not going to do that to her. I took her away from that, from being disappointed, from being frightened and hurt, from a living nightmare. I don’t want her to have to live like that.”  
Margaret listened open mouthed, this was the most information Phryne had given her on her life in Paris, and how she really felt about her own childhood. And she could also see Phryne leaving quite soon, if she wasn’t careful.  
“Phryne, I know sorry doesn’t really make up for that, and I can see what you want for Aurelie, it’s just … appearances, people talk, it’s not … it’s not …” she threw her hands up, “she’s illegitimate, you had a child out of wedlock!”  
“Nobody needs to know, you don’t have to shout it from the rooftops!” Phryne was so glad this conversation was being had after Aurelie had been put to bed and was asleep, “you can just imply I’m a widow, if you want, I don’t really care.”  
“Phryne, please,” Margaret reached out to her, “I’m sorry, let’s just get this weekend over and done with. Well sort things out after that.”  
Phryne wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but she was tired so she left it and went to bed. It wasn’t a good night’s sleep, but the following morning she put on her make-up, dressed in a simple blue dress that had a matching jacket and dressed Aurelie in a grey dress and put out her red coat. If she wandered off she would be easy to see.   
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They went down to the fairground in a small governess cart, with Walter driving. Henry and Margaret would drive down later in the morning, so Phryne and Aurelie had time to sample as many delights as they could: the rides, the donkeys, a coconut shy that Phryne won a coconut on much to her daughter’s delight, a shooting gallery that she won a very large teddy bear on, an ice cream and Mrs Allison’s pies and glasses of orange squash. Phryne forgot all about the argument she had had with her mother, people came to speak to her, reacquaint themselves with her, meet Aurelie, who was introduced to some of the children that attended the school.  
“I was planning on sending Aurelie to the school, next year,” she told one mother who she remembered slightly from her time there as a child, “is it a good school?”  
“Oh, heavens, er, yes, well Sarah is happy there and progressing well,” she told her, “but I thought …”  
“I would like Aurelie to know real people,” Phryne smiled, “I didn’t have that good a time at boarding school,” she lowered her voice, “and she is a bit young to send away. We’ve only just got here, from France.”  
“I heard a rumour,” the other woman leaned in close, “that you were on the front line, but …”  
“I was … ambulance driver,” Phryne nodded, but declined to say any more, they were not stories she wanted to tell. “Could you point out whoever runs the school, I may go and introduce myself.”  
“There are two, a headmaster, Mr Yowart, he deals with the older children, and Miss Ostle, she takes the littler ones. They are both very nice, caring, and want the children to succeed.”  
She looked around, “Oh, there he is,” she pointed to a middle-aged man with a mop of blond hair, wearing a tweed jacket and soft corduroy trousers, “I know he looks a bit untidy but he’s a good teacher. Sarah’s brother, Jack, is taught by him.”  
Margaret got out of the car and looked across the fair. Her heart sank as she saw Phryne talking to Mr Yowart and he bending to speak to Aurelie.  
“Oh, Henry,” she whispered to her husband, “Phryne is actually introducing the child to the head teacher, what will he think?”  
“He will think what Phryne wants him to think,” he offered her his arm, “we are here to judge the cakes, Margaret, not police our daughter’s morals.”  
“But …”  
“Look,” he turned to her, “do you want Phryne to stay or do you want her to pack up and high tail it off to somewhere the other side of the globe, eh? She’s not going about shouting that she’s not married. Plenty of women are widows for one reason or another, stop fussing.”  
Margaret frowned at him, he would take her side.  
He guided her to the fair where they took in the craft and flower stalls, the arrangements done by the children, and eventually to the cake stall, where Margaret would try small mouthfuls, consider the decorating and pronounce the winner.  
There was the usual selection of perfect and not so perfect, iced and not iced cakes but in the end she chose a plate of small cakes that had the tops cut to resemble wings and were decorated with buttercream. The baker, one of the farmer’s wives, was pleased but praised her children for having the idea to make the wings.  
They continued wandering about, making small talk with the villagers, Mrs Allison said how nice it was to see Miss Phryne the previous day and their granddaughter was a perfect little sweetheart. Of all the people they spoke to, nobody said anything about it being a shame Miss Aurelie didn’t have her father there, but how nice that Phryne had come home. Even the vicar, who had managed to introduce himself to Phryne as she watched Aurelie on a boat swing, said it was good that a daughter felt she could come home in times of strife.  
“To be left to raise your child alone, one should be able to turn to parents, don’t you think?” he smiled.  
“Yes, yes of course, we are glad Phryne came home, we have missed her,” Margaret stuttered.  
She tells me she intends for Aurelie to attend the local school,” he continued, “I think it is such a good idea, to integrate Aurelie into the village.”  
“I don’t think she wants Aurelie too far away from her,” Margaret swallowed, “after all they’ve been through.”  
“A wise decision,” he agreed, “ah, sorry I see my wife is waving to me, well, I shall see you in church tomorrow?”  
Margaret was cornered, the whole village knew Phryne was home, she had met the vicar, spoken to the school teacher, and they all knew she had a child. Depending on the sermon the following day, so far perhaps Henry and Phryne had been right, everyone assumed Phryne was a widow.   
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If Phryne was to stay at the family home she knew there were things she would have to do, to make the time pleasant, at least, so she tried not to roll her eyes at the idea of getting up to go to church on the Sunday. She hadn’t been to a Sunday service, or any service, since she had run away to join the ambulance brigade in France. René was a Catholic but didn’t attend church, preferring to spend the time in bed with Phryne and then drinking and painting the rest of the time away.  
The vicar had chosen, as his text, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, which Margaret felt was a dig at Phryne – the Prodigal Daughter. He told the congregation that the story showed love that a father should welcome a child home, even after they had not acted in the way the parent would have liked, and that the child had learned also that his actions had consequences.  
“But to show love to our children, is to forgive their transgressions and welcome them home, into the loving bosom of the family.”  
They finished the service with the usual prayers and passing of the collection plate.  
Phryne didn’t blame Aurelie for fidgeting a little, during the sermon, she was too young to understand the lesson, but she did say, afterwards, that it was nice that the father should let his naughty boy come home. Phryne had whispered the explanation of the word ‘prodigal’ when she asked her what it meant.  
There was the usual chatter after the service, as people left the church and greeted the family, the vicar thanked them for coming.  
“I know you have only just returned from your travels, Miss Fisher,” he smiled at Phryne, “so I wouldn’t have blamed you for staying in bed this morning.”  
Phryne laughed, but privately thought he might not have blamed her but her mother would.   
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As the weeks wore on, Phryne became accustomed to the way her parents lived, to keeping Aurelie out of the way when they had guests for dinner and as Christmas approached wondered if her mother was going to entertain the staff as they had done in the past. She hadn’t celebrated the Festive Season while in Paris and Aurelie was spellbound when she saw the tree decorated in the seldom used ballroom. Phryne explained about the gift giving and suggested they head up to London for the day for some shopping, and she needed to get out of the way of her mother, just for twenty-four hours.  
“But Phryne,” her mother gasped, “that’s your birthday!” when she laid out her plans.  
Phryne’s shoulder’s slumped, she didn’t want reminding, not that her age (27) bothered her, but she hadn’t celebrated that in years either.  
“Alright, I’ll go the day before and come back for my birthday,” she relented.  
“Darling,” Margaret sighed, “it’s a time to celebrate, we always remember it, here, but without you it seemed - well rather depressing. Not knowing where you were, or how you were, it was sometimes a little bit worrying.”  
“I hope you’re not planning a party,” Phryne pouted.  
“Just a few of your friends, people you know and who do ask after you,” Margaret smiled, mentally adding up the number of families with eligible young men she could invite that Phryne had met in the past.   
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Phryne and Aurelie had a lovely time in London. They booked into the Savoy again, and found Maud to look after Aurelie when Phryne needed to go out without her. They shopped for presents for Grandmama and Grandpapa, for Mary because Aurelie said she was a friend, and she was kind to her. Phryne agreed, Mary was officially the nursery maid, now, and it would seem she was able to help Aurelie get over the idea she was not always allowed to dine with her mother or to go downstairs when they had guests. She had shown her a little place on the landing where she could see all the lovely dresses, the mostly handsome men and the pretty ladies, though they both agreed that Phryne was always the prettiest. Aurelie usually fell asleep and had to be carried to bed but Mary didn’t mind.  
Phryne had never been able to spoil Aurelie, not properly, with gifts, toys, so she headed off to Hamley’s toy shop, leaving her daughter with Maud and had to stop herself buying up the whole store. She bought things she and Janey had longed for as children: a rocking horse; they would have to set aside a room that could be used as a room to play in in the bad weather; a doll with a soft body and porcelain head and hands, books, a toy zoo with animals and cages she could set out to her heart’s desire and had them all gift wrapped and arranged for them to be sent straight to the house. Satisfied Aurelie would have the best Christmas she headed to a small café for tea and scones before heading back to the hotel. She would dine with Aurelie, perhaps, and then see if there was a dance that evening.  
“Phryne?” a voice disturbed her musings, “it is you, isn’t it, Phryne Fisher?”  
She looked up.  
“Good heavens, I thought it was,” the owner of the voice grinned, “well, hello there, what are you doing here?”  
“Win? Winifred Hampson?” Phryne blinked, “fancy seeing you here. Sit,” she pushed a chair out and waved for more tea, “I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew.”  
“Gosh, I always come for a cuppa here, when I’m shopping,” Winifred sat down, “where have you been? Last I heard you were at the front, always was one for an adventure.”  
Phryne wouldn’t describe being a nurse and ambulance driver in the middle of the trenches during the worst conflict anyone had ever known as an ‘adventure’, but she just nodded.  
“Really?” Winifred’s eyes widened, “stronger stomach than me.”  
Phryne rolled her eyes and poured her tea.  
“So, what have you been up to since then? Do tell, something scandalous I’m sure,” her companion continued.  
Phryne tipped her head and smiled. “Stayed in Paris, a little modelling for an artist …”  
“What? Lord, portraits?”  
Phryne shrugged, Winifred would tell the whole world what she had been up to, she could be the worst gossip imaginable, worse than the old ladies in the village. She declined to add colour to the story by admitting she had stripped naked for the painters.  
“I bet you got up to all sorts,” Winifred laughed, “men, I hear those artist types can be a bit free living. Where are you staying?”  
“Er, the Savoy, just tonight, heading to the parents’ house tomorrow.” Phryne sighed, “just up for some Christmas shopping.”  
“Can’t you stay, I mean, Reggie’s around somewhere, we could go to a club?”  
Tempting though it was, Winifred’s brother was all hands if she remembered rightly, a gangly youth with greasy skin and a tendency to pimples, though that was years ago.  
“Sorry, mother’s organising a party tomorrow night …”  
“Something special?”  
Phryne rolled her eyes, “my birthday.”  
“What about in the New Year, we could all meet up and have a damn good time at a club, or somewhere?”  
“Perhaps,” Phryne smiled non-committedly, “are you in touch with any of the others?” She wondered if any of her other schoolfriends would be included in that group, it would be nice to catch up but not if it was just Win and Reggie.  
“God, yes,” Winifred nodded, “most of ‘em. Look, as you’re at the family pile I’ll give you a ring, we’ll meet up and have a right shindig.”  
Phryne knew she couldn’t hide from the world forever, and this was a way to get back into … whatever, but – there would be questions, there was Aurelie to consider … she nodded and smiled.   
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Phryne gazed down at the innocent face of her daughter, eyes closed, chest rising and falling and totally unaware of her mother’s turmoil of thoughts as to the idea of going out – on the town. Perhaps she should do it, see her friends, enjoy a dance or two, perhaps a dalliance – nothing more – get away from the glowering looks of her mother. But there was Aurelie; up until now Aurelie had been her everything, the only thing that mattered and although Win and Reggie weren’t her preferred companions perhaps Win had a point. She would have to see how she could organise things, perhaps Mary could come with her to London, the times she wanted to see her friends. She took a deep breath, she was only twenty - seven, she still had a lifetime of experiences ahead of her.   
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The following day, as Phryne and Aurelie left the hotel, she asked if she could keep the suite, for whenever she wanted to stay in the city.  
“I may wish to go to the theatre, meet friends,” she smiled at the manager, “and I might like to bring my daughter for a treat.”  
“I’m sure that can be arranged, Miss Fisher,” he looked down on her as if he noticed a particularly bad smell. And there it was, the judgement she had so far avoided since she arrived back in England.  
“Good,” she straightened her shoulders, “and I should like it to be available for my parents, as well, Baron and Baroness Fisher?”  
“Of course,” he fussed about looking for the register and there it was, mention nobility and you had them. God, she hated that.   
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“Maman?” Aurelie watched Phryne dress.  
“Sorry, ma petite,” Phryne sighed, “grown up time. But,” she knelt by her child’s bed, “thank you, for my birthday present.”  
Aurelie, and Mary, had made a card for her, drawn a picture and picked flowers from the garden. It was so long since Phryne had had any kind of gift for her birthday that this was probably the nicest thing she could have been given. The flowers had been set in a vase by her bed with the card and the picture was propped up in the sitting room adjoining the suite.  
“I love you, maman,” Aurelie murmured sleepily.  
“I love you too, my darling,” Phryne kissed her and turned to Mary.  
“Anything at all, and I mean anything, come and find me,” she insisted.  
“Of course, Miss,” Mary bobbed, “I will.”   
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Down in the ballroom people had gathered, music was playing and drink was already flowing when Phryne went down the stairs. She was instantly surrounded by people she hadn’t seen for ten years, or more, and they all had smiles on their faces ...   
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She flopped down on the bed; her feet hurt, her hips ached and her brain was slightly fuzzy from champagne but she was warm and happy and … and tired in a way she hadn’t been for so long. She loved Aurelie, adored her, would lay down her life for her, but she also needed this, that her parents had reminded her was part of her, dancing, drinking, laughing with her friends. Now she had to work out a way to combine both halves of her life.


	3. The past comes back to haunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories come out that bring people together, and throw people apart. Margaret shows her true nature and Henry is a nice father in this.

Before I start this chapter I just wanted to say thank you to all those of you who have read and commented on the first two chapters. You spur me on to do more, sometimes even give me ideas. Stay safe out there, everyone, keep smiling.  
NancyMay  
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How Phryne didn’t just pack up and leave during Christmas she would probably never know. Christmas day was fine, just the family, Aurelie was delighted and overwhelmed at the number of gifts she received. As well as those from her maman she received another doll from her Grandmama, some books from Grandpapa, Mary had knitted her a lovely little cardigan with matching hat and gloves as protection from the cold.  
Walter had found her a pony from one of the farmers that had been ridden by his children but had grown out of.  
“Just the thing for the little Miss,” Walter had grunted, embarrassed, “known as Spud,” he shrugged, “born around the time of the potato harvest.”  
“He’s lovely,” Aurelie reached out tentatively to pat the pony, “thank you, M’sieur.”  
Walter touched his cap and walked the animal back into its stable.  
After the principal day it all seemed to go downhill for Phryne. Her mother had invited lots of their friends with yet more eligible young men, there were dinners and dances, teas, overnight guests that Margaret insisted Aurelie was kept away from. It came to a head when Phryne didn’t appear for pre-dinner drinks one evening.  
Her mother had invited over Lord and Lady Heronlea and their two sons, a neighbouring landowner and his son and daughter all with the express motive of finding Phryne a possible partner. She had greeted them politely, been sparkling at tea and even walked around the gardens, in the snow, with those strong enough to brave the elements. It was pleasant enough until Gordon Heronlea spotted a snowman and laughed at it. Alright, it was wobbly, but it had the required coal eyes and smile, and the carrot for its nose, but one stick arm was considerably longer that the other and the scarf round its neck had had holes pecked in it at some time in its life. It wore one of Henry’s old hats.  
“Seriously, old girl,” he guffawed, “aren’t you a bit old for building snowmen?”  
“My daughter built it, it’s her first,” she blurted out. Aurelie had been so proud of her first snowman that she had built with Mary and her maman and they had danced round it and called it ‘Henry’. Aurelie’s joy had been infectious even when the dance descended into a snowball fight and she and her mother had to go in to get warmed up in the bath – together. Truthfully, Phryne had told her mother she would not to bring her daughter into the conversations but Heronlea’s ridiculing of the childish pleasure had angered her.  
“D d daughter?” he stammered, but she had flounced off. The rest of the group stood open-mouthed looking from Heronlea to the retreating back of the Honourable Phryne Fisher and back again.

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In the parlour the elders of the various households jumped as the front door slammed shut and hasty footsteps were heard running up the stairs. Margaret knew immediately that it was her daughter and either someone had upset her or she was having, what she termed, a strop. She hurried into the hall to see Phryne head into Aurelie’s playroom and the others stamp their feet of snow before entering the house.  
“Phryne!”  
She looked at Heronlea, her face asking the question.  
He declined to comment, shrugging off his coat and heading straight into the parlour.  
“She has a daughter,” he hissed to his parents, “apparently.”  
The chatter had stopped, everyone was now in the parlour not knowing what to say. Henry knew there was about to be an almighty row between his wife and their daughter if he didn’t do something, plant the seed of the idea that Phryne was a widow.  
He shook his head, sadly and hummed.  
“Such a shame,” he sighed, “to be left to bring up the child alone, but, as I said to Margaret, these things happen, still so much tragedy in the world. Only thing she could do was to come home, and we are glad she did.”  
Standing in the doorway, Margaret heard what he said, but she was still angry, after Phryne had promised not to say anything.  
“Who was he?” Lady Heronlea asked, intrigued, she knew, like everyone else that Phryne had spent some years abroad.  
“An artist,” Henry pushed his hand in his pocket and crossed his fingers, “but please don’t ask her about it, it’s too painful, too raw,” that much he knew was true.  
The air seemed to clear and the conversation moved on to what the war had done to people, then to each other’s business’ but Phryne did not reappear.

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As everyone went to change for dinner Phryne was in the playroom. When she had run from the group this was where she had gone. Aurelie and Mary were playing Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Aurelie was Peter and Mary was Hook and they were sword fighting with sticks from the garden. It was close enough to the games she used to play with Janey, in the bathtub, sailing the seven seas in search of pirates and treasure that Phryne had to bite back the threatening tears.  
“Aha!” Aurelie shouted, “I have you, Hook!”  
“Pray have mercy on me, Peter,” Mary lay on the floor, hands up.  
“Oh, hello, maman,” Aurelie looked across the room, “I won again, Peter Pan won the fight!” She danced a little jig round the room.  
“Did he indeed,” Phryne swallowed and smiled a little smile, “I’m beginning to feel sorry for Captain Hook.”  
“Will you read me some more of the story tonight, maman?” Aurelie took her hand and looked up at her. “You look sad.”  
“Sorry, ma petite,” Phryne sat in the chair and pulled her onto her knee, “someone said something mean about your snowman.”  
“Never mind, maman,” Aurelie cuddled in, “we can build another one tomorrow, a better one?”  
“I think our Henry is just perfect, some people just don’t have an eye for artistic impression.” Phryne kissed her head, “and I would love to read to you tonight.”  
Aurelie noticed the hesitation, “But you have to have dinner with Grandmama’s friends.” She pouted.  
Phryne sighed then took a deep breath, “Not before I have read to you.” If she didn’t go down for pre-dinner drinks she could put Aurelie to bed and read to her first.

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“Now,” Phryne opened the book, “where were we?”  
“Tink has taken Wendy away,” Aurelie settled in the bed and looked expectantly at her mother.  
“Ah, yes, well:  
‘Feeling that Peter was on his way back, the Neverland had again woke into life. We ought to use the pluperfect and say wakened, but woke is better and always used by Peter …”  
“What’s the pluperfect?” Aurelie interrupted.  
“Er, clever grammar that you don’t need to bother about for years yet,” Phryne smiled, trying to drag it up from the bottom of her brain. “er, ‘In his absence things are usually …”  
“Phryne!” Margaret didn’t bother to knock, “we are waiting for you. Drinks - in the parlour – now,” she ordered.  
Phryne slumped and looked at Aurelie, crossing her eyes and making her daughter giggle, “I’ll just change, mother,” she grunted.  
“Bon nuit, maman,” Aurelie whispered.  
“Sweet dreams, my darling,” Phryne bent forward and kissed her forehead.  
As Phryne left Aurelie’s bedside her mother grabbed her by the arm, squeezing tight.  
“Your father has intimated you are a widow, stick to it,” she hissed, “Gordon Heronlea was quite shocked when you said you had a daughter.”  
“He’s a pompous ass,” Phryne hissed back, “thinks he’s above the rest of us, he …”  
“I don’t want to hear it, Phryne, they are our guests. I’ll tell them you have been delayed.” She flounced out, slamming the door behind her.  
“Miss?” Mary had been outside the room and now stepped in to see if there was anything she could do.  
“Oh, Mary,” Phryne ran her hands through her hair, “er …”  
“How about the pink?” “ Mary opened the wardrobe, “it’s the one that suits you least, you keep saying, and …”  
“Well, it’s the least alluring,” Phryne admitted, “yes, that will do.”

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Margaret raised one eyebrow when Phryne appeared in the parlour, just as they were about to go into dinner. Her dress was pretty, long sleeved and floor length. It had a simple scooped neckline with chiffon draped across from shoulder to shoulder and the ends hung down her back. It was quite elegant, but Phryne had never liked the colour, not even with the added beaded decoration had it really pleased her, she wasn’t even sure why her mother had chosen it.  
“I apologise for my tardiness,” Phryne smiled sweetly.  
Henry went over to her and touched her arm. She looked at him and saw only encouragement in his face. When he offered her his arm to escort her into dinner she could honestly say she was grateful.  
Henry pulled out a chair next to him for her, ignoring the glare he got from his wife, and everybody else found their seats and sat down to enjoy the delights of the Fisher kitchen. It was a lavish and long menu that Phryne barely tasted, but she ate politely, joined in the conversation and all the time waited for someone to say something.  
“I saw Herbert Ryan, today,” Margaret put her fork down, “he was looking for small jobs around the estate.”  
“Do we have anything?” Phryne wracked her brain for Ryan then remembered what Mrs Allison had said that day she had taken Aurelie for milk and currant buns, “surely there’s something he can do, even with only one leg. Polish the tack for Walter? He could do that sitting down.”  
“I can’t give every sorry story a job, Phryne,” Margaret huffed.  
“How many come looking for work here?”  
“Er I think Ryan is the only one …”  
“And family, does he have one?”  
“His wife left him, couldn’t cope with …” Henry hummed sadly.  
“So, he’s all on his own?” Phryne looked round the table, “I’m sure we can find a few shillings for him to help Walter, after all, what was the point of fighting if the country can’t thank him in some small way?”  
“Phryne …” her mother huffed, “it’s none of your business.”  
“No? I think it is,” she raised her shoulders, “he’s been to hell and back, and we can’t find a few shillings that he wants to work for? I shall see to it. He can clean the tack, possibly groom some of the horses, he could groom Spud sitting down.”  
“Spud?”  
“Aurelie’s pony …” a silence descended.  
“Is that your daughter’s name?” Lady Heronlea asked.  
“Yes,” Phryne nodded and ignored the glare she got from her mother, but it was her fault that Aurelie came into the conversation.  
“How pretty,” her ladyship commented.  
“Thank you,” Phryne returned to eating her meal.  
“It must have been awful,” one of the women commented, “the fighting, I don’t know anyone who was there.”  
“I was,” Phryne observed, “but it’s not a pleasant subject for the dinner table.”  
“You were there?” she, Sarah, if Phryne remembered rightly, looked shocked, “really?”  
“Ambulance driver and nurse,” Phryne put her knife and fork on her plate, suddenly she wasn’t hungry anymore.  
“So,” Henry turned to Lord Heronlea, “this new road they want to put through your land …”  
“Well, I can see it is a good idea, after all it will save skirting round the whole county,” Heronlea nodded, “but we do need to find the least invasive route.”  
“Just the other side of the small copse, father?” the younger Heronlea suggested, “use the original track and improve on that.”  
“We are looking at that, boy,” his father nodded, “why don’t you come on the survey next month?”  
“Happy to,” he smiled, Phryne thought he was a lot nicer than his brother who she could see was desperate to ask all sorts of personal questions about Aurelie and possibly about her time at the front. He was old enough to have served but he probably led from behind, he didn’t look like the type to get his hands dirty.  
Phryne refused dessert, settling for coffee instead.  
“You alright, Phryne?” her father leaned close to whisper.  
“Memories,” she sighed.  
He patted her hand. He was mellow, not having drunk enough to get difficult, and when he was like this she could almost love him. Since she had come home he seemed to be softer, he certainly had tried his best to keep the peace between her and her mother. She had no doubts he would be after something at some time, probably money, but perhaps they could come to a suitable arrangement where they supported each other.

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They sat in the parlour for coffee and liqueurs, Sarah sat at the piano and asked permission to play. She had a light touch and her chosen pieces were modern and bright.  
“Do you play, Phryne?” Heronlea the younger asked.  
“I’m afraid I never had the patience,” she shook her head, “perhaps I should try again.”  
“Know what you mean,” he laughed, “scales … bane of my life. Gordon persevered, but …” he leant in to whisper, “don’t ask him, he bashes away at heavy classical stuff. Now this that Sarah’s playing, much more jolly.”  
“I bumped into an old friend in London, just before Christmas, she thought we, that is the old group, should meet up at a club, sometime …” she left the invitation hanging.  
“Now, that sounds like a damn fine idea,” he grinned, “I’ve been to a grand little jazz club in Soho, if you’ve a mind for that …”  
“That sounds like a possibility,” she hummed, “I might have a sudden urge to take Aurelie to London – can’t leave her here …”  
“Nanny?”  
“I’m sure the nursery maid would love a couple of days in London,” she began to formulate a plan, “where do you stay?”  
“Claridges,” he murmured, “you?”  
“Savoy,” she smiled, she genuinely liked this Heronlea, “suite there, separate room for Aurelie …” she looked faintly embarrassed that she would have her child with her.  
“Don’t worry, seen the glares you get …” he squeezed her hand.  
“Look,” she hissed, “I don’t want to lead you on, I …”  
“… just need a bit of fun?”  
She nodded.

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Phryne awoke to find Aurelie had crawled into bed with her, again. This would never do, she thought to herself, and as the guests knew she existed she was going to take her down to eat breakfast in the dining room, for a change. All that week whenever they had guests the poor child had eaten all her meals in the playroom with Mary, well today she would have her breakfast downstairs with her mother, and if they bumped into a visitor – well so be it.  
“Maman,” Aurelie stood still while Mary fastened her blouse, “can I ride Spud today, just a little bit, please.”  
“Round the stable yard? I suppose so … breeches, Mary, please, and a sweater that will go under her jacket.”  
Right you are, Miss Phryne,” Mary smiled, “do you want me to put out your riding breeches?”  
Phryne shook her head and reached for the wool skirt she had already chosen, “I’m not riding, I shall put Spud on a leading rein, at the most,” she smiled, “until she’s safe to ride alone. Up until then you can ride with me, cherie.”  
Phryne held out her hand, “Breakfast?”  
“Oui, s’il vous plaît,” Aurelie smiled and they went down the stairs hand in hand, Phryne ready to stand her ground should she meet her mother.

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Aurelie had really taken to eating porridge in the morning, especially with the honey her mother drizzled over it. She sat quietly eating when the adults started to drift into the room, some raising an eyebrow at the sight of mother and daughter eating.  
“Mornin’, Miss Fisher,” Heronlea the younger, or Charlie to his friends, “and good morning to you too, Miss Aurelie,” he grinned at the little girl who smiled shyly back.  
“This is Mr Heronlea, Aurelie,” Phryne introduced him, “he is a friend of mine.”  
“M’sieur,” Aurelie held out her hand.  
“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance miss,” Charlie took her hand and kissed it, smiling at her and making her giggle, “best call me Charlie, or we’ll get confused with me big brother.”  
“How are you this morning, Charlie?” Phryne watched him help himself to a plate of eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee.  
“Ticketty boo,” he grinned, “you?”  
“Well, thank you,” she smiled, of all the visitors they had had over the festive season, Charlie Heronlea was by far the easiest to get along with, at least worthy of a mild flirtation.  
“Your plans for the day?”  
“Aurelie is going to start learning to ride this morning, after that I don’t really have any plans.”  
“You should take M’sieur Charlie to the tea rooms, maman,” Aurelie scraped the last of her porridge out of the bowl, “for tea and currant buns.”  
“Only because you want to go,” Phryne laughed.  
Aurelie went a little pink, which, for a four year old, Phryne found unnerving, she must be her mother’s daughter, she thought.  
“Tea and currant buns, eh?” he grinned, “are they good?”  
“Scrummy,” Aurelie loved this new word she had learnt.  
“Well,” Phryne stood up, “come on, Miss, if you want to ride Spud,” she held out her hand and Aurelie jumped down off her seat.  
Charlie watched them go, whatever Phryne’s marital status she was lovely and obviously rather brave. Not marriage material but it would be nice to be friends with her, her mother was giving her a hard time and he didn’t see why she would do that, nobody came out of the war the way they went in. Except perhaps Gordon, who was always a pig, and a prig, and just got worse.  
“Phryne!”  
Margaret saw her daughter and granddaughter head out of the dining room and collect coats.  
“Good morning, mother,” Phryne smiled sweetly.  
“Bonjour, Grandmama,” Aurelie whispered, sure that she should not be there. Even for someone so young she had soon got the lie of the land. She was to stay out of the way unless it was just family.  
Margaret ignored her and glared at Phryne. “I thought …”  
Phryne tossed her head and bent to whisper in Aurelie’s ear. “Run along to the stables, cherie, I’ll be right there.”  
“I’ll take her,” Charlie appeared at her side, “come and show me this pony of yours, Aurelie.” He held out his hand.  
“Go on,” Phryne encouraged, “I’ll be along in a minute,” silently grateful for Charlie. She wondered why he was so relaxed about her having a child, it almost seemed as if he himself had some experience of other unmarried mothers.  
Margaret stared after Charlie and Aurelie then turned to her own daughter.  
“I thought I told you to keep Aurelie out of sight,” she hissed.  
“Everyone knows she exists, so why keep up the pretence? Or if someone asked were you going to say there was something wrong with her?” Phryne grunted through gritted teeth. “Now, if you will excuse me, Aurelie is having a riding lesson this morning, then we are taking Charlie to the village for tea and currant buns. While we are there I shall go and see Mr Ryan and offer him the job of stable hand.” She turned on her heel and swept out of the house, seething.  
Margaret glared after her, not only had she disobeyed her by showing off her illegitimate child but she was going out with the younger son, why could she not follow the path her mother was mapping out for her?  
“Margaret?” Henry touched her elbow, “leave her be, love. The more pressure you put on her the more she will go her own way.”  
“Perhaps you should have left her in that cupboard longer, Henry, taught her how to respect her elders,” she snapped.  
“Worst thing I ever did,” he frowned, “I see that, now. Or could have been the best, it seems to have made her stronger.” Phryne would hate his thought that she was more like them than Margaret would admit, headstrong, rash … and he respected her for that strength.  
She glared at him.  
“We have guests, Margaret,” he reminded her, “best foot forward.” He escorted her into breakfast, to face questions about their daughter.

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Walter was just saddling up Spud, explaining what he was doing to Aurelie.  
“See, Miss Aurelie,” he showed her the bridle, “this goes on here, fastens here …”  
“You will be able to do this when you grow up, Aurelie,” Charlie smiled, “bet your mother can.”  
“Can you ride a horse, M’sieur Charlie?” she asked.  
“I can, I have a big black horse at home, he’s called Noctis …”  
“That’s Latin, for night,” Phryne entered the stable, “how are you doing?”  
“Just finishing up, Miss Phryne,” Walter checked the girth, “now, let’s have you up …” he watched Charlie lift Aurelie into the saddle, “… sort out this …” he adjusted the stirrups, “… all ready to go.”  
“Merci, M’sieur,” Aurelie smiled, “maman?”  
Phryne clipped a leading rein onto the bridle and led them out into the yard.  
“You ok?” Charlie stood beside her watching Aurelie.  
“I do sometimes wonder if it was such a good idea to come home, y’know,” she shrugged, “hold tight, Aurelie but don’t pull on the reins, you’ll hurt his mouth. Mother has always tried to push me in one direction …”  
“… so you pulled in the opposite?”  
She nodded, “I suppose that’s why I ran away, to France. But I thought I could do something more worthwhile than hosting afternoon teas and dinners, making small talk and ignoring what was happening elsewhere.”  
“I expect you did, make a difference.” He sighed, “Gordon served, officer class of course, came home after the Somme, gunshot wound to the leg that broke his thigh. Stayed behind a desk for the rest of it.”  
“You?”  
He shuddered, “Like you, ran away to see the world, saw mud and blood. Lieutenant Heronlea at your service ma’am,” he doffed his hat.  
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I must have made you uncomfortable this visit.”  
“Not at all, livened it up rather,” he grinned, “always being dragged around, usually by mother, trying to find Gordon a wife.”  
“Hm,” she chewed her bottom lip, “mother’s trying to do the same to me, but how she thinks a future husband is going to view bringing up someone else’s child …”  
“If it were me, I wouldn’t mind,” he smiled, “but, like you, I’m not looking for marriage, not yet … I’d like us to be friends, Phryne, if it’s alright with you, no strings.”  
“I think I’d like that,” she smiled and turned her attention to Aurelie, who seemed to be mastering riding at a walk quite well. “Gordon won’t be happy.” She mused.  
“One of you would kill the other within a week,” he laughed. “He needs a little quiet mouse of a thing, who will do his bidding and provide him with sons to carry on the line.”  
“I don’t want any more children,” she whispered, “Aurelie was an accident, a happy accident, I love her more than I ever thought I would love a child, but I don’t care to do it again.”  
“I applaud your honesty,” he pushed his hands into his pocket.  
“I told mother we were taking you to the village …” she smirked.  
“… tea and currant buns?”  
She nodded, “And to offer Ryan the job as stable hand, but I better just check with Walter first, and have Aurelie change out of her breeches.”  
“I’ll rustle up our car, then,” Charlie shrugged, “unless we can walk?”  
“We can, but Aurelie won’t make it, we went on horseback last time …”  
“Car it is then,” he put his hands in his pockets and headed off whistling to see where the car had been stored.

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With Aurelie changed into a blue woollen dress, warm stockings and red coat and hat, and gloves that she was told she had to keep on until she had her currant bun, they drove down to the village and parked outside the tea rooms.  
“I have it on good authority,” Charlie grinned at Mrs Allison after he had been introduced, “that your currant buns are scrummy.”  
Mrs Allison threw back her head and roared with laughter, “And whose authority might that be, Mr Heronlea,” she looked pointedly at Aurelie.  
“Why, Mis Aurelie’s of course,” he pulled out a chair for the two ladies, “and who are we to argue with that?”  
“Well, now,” she nodded, “I suppose that settles it, but as it’s rather cold out today, how about some hot chocolate for Miss Aurelie? If her mama doesn’t mind?”  
“Her mama thinks that is a splendid idea, Mrs Allison,” Phryne agreed but ordered tea for herself and Charlie.  
“And, Mrs Allison, could you tell me which cottage Herbert Ryan lives in,” Phryne stopped her, “I have a job for him.”  
“Well, Miss,” she hummed, “he did try up at the house yesterday …”  
“I know,” Phryne rolled her eyes, “but Walter manages the stables by himself …”  
“Down at the end of the street, turn right and he’s at the bottom of the lane. Green door, can’t miss it.”  
“Thanks, I’ll be back shortly.”  
“Tis good of her to think of him,” she murmured.  
“She understands, Mrs Allison, more than a lot,” Charlie agreed, “and I have a feeling that Miss Phryne Fisher will always champion the underdog.”  
“Never was one to stand on ceremony, if she could get away with it,” Mrs Allison smiled.  
“I don’t suppose she was.”

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Ryan’s house was not hard to miss; the paint was peeling and the windows needed cleaning, but, Phryne supposed, with no money coming in that was the least of his worries. She knocked and waited.  
A curious face, age undetermined, peered out. His hair was unkempt and his beard was long. His clothes, or what she could see of them were old and darned, a jumper with frayed sleeves over an old shirt.  
“Mr Ryan?” she smiled one of her glorious disarming smiles, “Phryne Fisher, how do you do?”  
He cleared his throat and grumbled that in this weather …  
“Quite, well I’ll have some firewood sent down,” she pushed the door open a little.  
“Don’t want no charity,” he hissed.  
“And I’m not offering it,” she realised he wasn’t going to invite her in, “you want a job, I have one that I think you could do. Walter, in the stables could do with a stable hand, polish the tack, groom my daughter’s pony …”  
“Er Ladyship said she ain’t got no work for me,” he eyed her suspiciously.  
“My mother didn’t ask if I had anything that needed doing, and as it is my daughter’s pony I shall be paying your wages,” she raised her eyebrows, “interested?”  
“How long for?”  
“Long as you want,” she shrugged, “pound a week, in your hand, firewood for your fire and a lunchtime meal from the kitchen.”  
He gasped, that was a very generous offer, a pound a week would see him fed and clothed, especially with food provided once a day, he might even manage a little bit of tobacco for his pipe out of it.  
“Well, Miss,” he gathered himself, “when would you want me to start?”  
“Tomorrow will do,” she smiled, “and here’s half a week’s wages to keep you going ‘til next payday.” She handed him a selection of coins, which he checked to see added up to ten shillings.  
“Why would you do this for me?” he scowled.  
“I was there, Mr Ryan,” she said softly, “I know.”  
“You, Miss?”  
She patted his hand and turned away. He saw her nod then straighten her shoulders before setting off back down the lane to the tea shop and more cheerful conversation.

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While the families took their leave at the end of the visit, Charlie pulled Phryne aside.  
“Is it ok if I call you? We could go up to town?”  
“I’d like that Charlie,” she whispered, “but you know I won’t be alone.”  
“Your little chaperone,” he smiled, “can you bring the maid?”  
“Yes, she’s agreed to take that as part of her duties, I just wanted to remind you …”  
He bent and kissed her cheek, “I have a story to tell you, when we are in London, it will explain a lot, the questions you have about me.”  
“You do realise I am going to use you as an excuse not to be railroaded into a marriage.”  
He shrugged and grinned, “And I you, plus I can stop the idea of you and Gordon, the parents are still of a mind.”  
“God help me, Charlie,” she hissed, “I am not a commodity to be bartered with!”  
“Hey,” he soothed, “I’m on your side, remember.”  
“Sorry,” she relaxed, “see you soon.”  
“You will,” he winked and walked over to the rest of his family.

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“So,” Margaret cornered her in the parlour, “you and Charlie Heronlea …”  
“What about us?” Phryne huffed. She was still angry with her mother for trying to arrange a marriage for her.  
“What about Gordon, he’s the elder son?”  
“Mother, we are not in India or China or the nineteenth century, you cannot arrange a marriage for me. It’s nineteen twenty-eight, for heavens sake!” she threw up her hands in despair.  
“Phryne, you have to think of your future,” Margaret tried to reason with her.  
“Yes, my future mother, which, I might remind you includes my daughter who you seem to have turned against.” Phryne went to stare out of the window where she could see Mary and Aurelie building a snowman with the remains of the snow.  
“It’s just that you flaunt her around, you don’t seem to care the everyone knows you aren’t married.”  
“I haven’t said anything, so that’s down to you,” Phryne turned round to face her, “mother, either you accept that Aurelie is not going to go away and stop trying to marry me off or … or … so help me I shall leave.”  
“You wouldn’t?”  
“I would, I will, why shouldn’t I?”  
“You can’t drag a child wherever the fancy takes you!”  
“Then find a reason for me to stay,” Phryne was near to tears, all her arguments, fights in the past had been with her father now she seemed to argue non-stop with her mother.  
“Janey would have been so much easier,” Margaret muttered.  
“I am not Janey!” Phryne screamed, “how could you bring her into this. And if she were here, believe me I would not let you marry her off like some prize brood mare! Don’t you ever use Janey against me!”  
She stormed out of the room, the tears flowing now, and ran up to her suite. She needed to calm herself before Aurelie saw her, she didn’t want to frighten her, but as things now stood she doubted her daughter would start at the local school, they would be moving on before the year was out, and it had only just started.  
She had washed her face and repaired her make-up when there was a knock on the door.  
“Phryne?” It was her father, what did he want? She drew herself up and went to see if he was going to side with her mother or sit on the fence, as usual.  
“What?”  
“Can I come in?”  
“Sorry,” she could see the two glasses of whisky in his hand, “come into my sitting room.”  
They sat, he on the chair and her curled up on the small couch, both staring into their drinks.  
“Are you alright?” his voice was soft and gentle.  
“Not really, no,” she admitted. “If she had just let it lie, not said anything then there would be no need for these arguments. I’m sorry if you think I have shamed the family …”  
“I don’t think you have, love,” he hummed, “I am immensely proud of you, all you have done, the nursing, being there, having the courage to keep Aurelie when you could have sent her to an orphanage, but you always did look after those that needed it – Janey, that little lad that got stuck in the drainage channel, hell, Phryne, you were only eight! It’s I who should apologise to you, for being a rotten father, so whatever you choose to do, I will support you.”  
“I can’t stay here, father,” she sniffed, “not like this.”  
“Why don’t you have the Dower House, you and the little one and Mary, for now, eh?” he stared at her, “it has three bedrooms, I think, all facilities, you would be quite comfortable there, until you sort out what you want to do.”  
“I have thought of going home, to Melbourne,” she sipped the whisky, “find out what happened to Janey – you never said, told me the whole story.”  
“She was never found,” he sighed, “the police tried but the man they jailed for abducting her wouldn’t give up her resting place. He was caught on the evidence of another girl who he tried to abduct but they think he took more. There were quite a few reports of missing girls at the time. I believe he is still in prison.”  
Phryne got up and went into her bedroom. He heard her rifling in a bag, he thought. When she returned she had something in her hand.  
“This is all I have to remember her by,” she showed him the ribbon that had fallen out of Janey’s hair that fateful day, the one she had picked up off the ground when she realised her little sister had gone. “I carry it with me at all times.”  
“Oh, Phryne,” he sighed and blinked away tears, “you blame yourself, don’t you, and you shouldn’t do.”  
“Mother blames me, and I should have kept a closer eye on her,” Phryne gulped, “I just want to know why she was taken, and where she is now. Aurelie reminds me of her sometimes, her colouring and when she sleeps next to me, like Janey did. I may spend more time in town, with Aurelie. Charlie has offered to take me to a jazz club and I met an old friend when I was shopping before Christmas.”  
“Good, you should be enjoying yourself, but what about Aurelie? If you are out partying?”  
“I’m going to take Mary with us, I’ve arranged for a second bed to be put in the little Room Aurelie sleeps in at the Savoy.”  
“Good, good,” he nodded, but he looked thoughtful.  
“Father?”  
“Eh, oh, well, I wanted to talk to you …”  
“About?”  
“Er, well … oh … I admit I’m not the wisest when it comes to money …”  
“What have you done?” she glared at him.  
“Nothing – yet.”  
“But you are about to.”  
“I hope not,” he huffed, “it’s just that, with there not being a lot of money in the family, and yes, it is partly my fault, I have spent unwisely on maybe a few horse races …” he looked at her, disappointment showed on her face, “we’re not penniless, but I need to keep your mother comfortable and she does like to entertain.” He paused and took a deep breath, “I’ve been offered the chance to invest in a business, and I was going to but you said you have a financial chap in London …”  
“Father,” she sighed, “when will you learn. You need to investigate any company that offers you something that appears to be too good to be true, because it probably is. However, I am glad you asked me?”  
“You said you have invested your trust fund, and something you got from M Juneau?”  
She nodded.  
“M Juneau, so I thought, maybe you could have a quick look, and if you are going up to town see what your advisor says, and if it’s good I wondered if you would like to join me as co-investor.”  
“What do the company do?”  
“Aircraft, design and build,” he shuddered, “can’t see why anyone would want to fly when you can take the train or a leisurely cruise on a comfortable liner.”  
“Oh, well, times are changing, father,” she was genuinely surprised, she thought he’d be investing in a brewery or a racehorse. “Have you got the paperwork in the study?”  
“Yes,” he brightened, “would you like to see it?”

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As they walked down the stairs Phryne mused on the change in her relationship with her father. At the moment he was the one not pushing her to do something she didn’t want to, he was the one who didn’t mind his illegitimate granddaughter being around when there were visitors …

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She sat in the study and read through the proposal. On first reading it looked reasonable, they had an idea to build their own planes and to help them raise funds they were offering flying lessons. But they also needed investors and it was this that Henry was thinking of.  
“I should like to meet them, and then see my advisor,” she put the file down and looked at him, “but, I could be interested.”

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Before she took the paperwork to her advisor, Phryne went to visit the airfield.  
They had two airworthy Gypsy Moths and another in for repair, otherwise it was a hanger and a temporary hut in which the plans and engineering specifications were drawn up.

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“That was amazing!” Phryne accepted the help to get down from the plane.  
The pilot, who she had learned was known as Chris, pulled off his flying helmet and ran his hands through his hair, “Glad you enjoyed it.”  
“Would you let me take her up, on my own?”  
“What?” he coughed, “but …”  
“It’s alright,” she laughed, “it’s been a while but I can fly. I learnt during the war …” she frowned as she remembered flying her best friend, Elizabeth, to the wilds of the Scottish Isles during the flu epidemic of 1918. “… I remembered how to ride a horse to I should be able to remember how to pilot a plane, but you can come with me, if you like.”

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Phryne began to feel a little freer once she moved into the Dower House with Aurelie and Mary. Mary was a reasonable cook and they didn’t require long expansive menus so they managed rather well. Aurelie seemed more settled, too, she crawled into Phryne’s bed less frequently and she enjoyed being with Mary, sometimes in the kitchen like she had done with Mme Gerard, and out in the little garden when the weather allowed and her riding lessons continued. Phryne also felt easier about leaving her there when she went up to London to see her advisor about the aircraft company. He looked into the men that ran it, the current investment and advised her on how much they should invest and what return they should expect. It was on this visit that she had her first chance to see Charlie – they met up for lunch and he told her why he was so relaxed about Aurelie.  
“It was Gordon, really,” he hummed, “I was interested in a girl, just after the war, her name was Anna and we had known each other for some years, her father was the estate manager at the time. With me being the younger brother I got away with more than Gordon who was/is expected to make a suitable marriage with a girl from a good family. My parents said that as long as I didn’t embarrass them then they would let me choose my own partner. Anna wasn’t quite what they had in mind but she was well mannered, clever – she kept borrowing books from our library – and knew how things worked. Anyway, Gordon, as you can probably guess is the jealous type and he decided he was going to set his cap at Anna, just to anger me, really, not because he had any feeling for her. He would wait for me to be up in town on business for father and then go and pester her. She told me what he was doing and I challenged him on it, told him to leave her alone, we got into a bit of a scrap about it.” He paused and stared across the restaurant. “I really did care for her, Phryne, a lot and Gordon took great delight in trying to take her from me. She resisted, but he persisted and one day he caught her in the library and, well, she wasn’t strong enough to resist him and he … well, I think you can guess what he did.” His face clouded and his knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of the table.  
“Oh, Charlie,” she whispered, “I am sorry. Anna?”  
“A month later she realised that she had caught but when she told him what he had done he forced her to go and see someone … it nearly killed her, would have done if I hadn’t got out of him where she was – essentially my brother is a coward – I threatened to tell our parents, they would have cut him off without a shilling. I found her in a hospital, she had crawled there, bleeding. The enormity of what had been done to her, what she thought was her fault, and it wasn’t in any way, shape or form but it broke her. I wish she had told me, I would have gladly taken on her and the baby, but she was so ashamed. She’s in a lovely place, in the country but she’s lost; when you blurted out about Aurelie, the snowman? I could see that you could have been Anna, and no way was I going to let Gordon get his hands on you, or Aurelie, better without a father than one like him.” He ground his teeth. Phryne reached over to touch his hand.  
“Would you take me to see her?”  
He glared at her, did she want to gloat, had he got her all wrong.  
“I take it you pay for her care?”  
He nodded.  
“She is still very special to you, Charlie, I should like to meet the woman that stole your heart. Thank you for telling me your story, and Anna’s, if I can help, at all, you only have to ask.”  
“When whoever found out you were …”  
“He wanted me to get rid, like Gordon, but when you have seen that death and destruction like we have, Charlie … I couldn’t do it, even though motherhood was never something I saw the appeal of, I couldn’t deliberately destroy a life just because it was inconvenient. So, here I am, an unwed mother, scandalising society,” she grinned.  
“I think I’m the only one who knows the truth,” Charlie laughed, “at least of the ones at your parents’ place the other week, they all still think you are a widow and who am I to disabuse them of that notion.”

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It was easy to have Charlie around, he didn’t ask anything of her but her company, nothing more and nothing less. They dined together when they were both in London, went dancing at clubs he knew and he did take her to meet Anna. He was quite happy to wander around the zoo with her and Aurelie when it was Mary’s day off, and eat ice cream. It was probably inevitable that they would spend at least one night together.  
“You need to find yourself some nice young lady,” she sipped her cocktail one evening as they paused in their dancing at the jazz club.  
“I have found myself a nice young lady,” he teased.  
“Charlie,” she scolded, “we agreed, no strings, just company, dancing, dinners … and I wouldn’t call me a ‘nice young lady’, my mother certainly wouldn’t.”  
“Your mother doesn’t know a ‘nice young lady’, when she sees one,” he laughed, “after Anna … hell Phryne, we hadn’t … y’know, she wanted to wait and I respected that then bloody Gordon has to go and do that … “ he began to get agitated, “Phryne …” he ran his hands through his hair.  
“I haven’t been with anyone since I left Aurelie’s father,” she twirled her glass, “never trusted anyone enough, never actually met anyone I would want to … and I don’t want, don’t think I can commit like that …” she knew she was rambling but he understood. When you have been disappointed, hurt like she had, like they both had, why revisit the situation.

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She rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. She had fortunately kept her device in case she ever found herself in a certain situation she might need it, but it took some, rather giggly, time for her to find it in the small suitcase she used when staying at the hotel. It was tucked in the lining, out of sight of a maid who might be unpacking for her, but there it was. They had had just enough to drink for this, dutch courage, maybe, Phryne was a little nervous, given her past history, but Charlie was sweet and kind and not inexperienced.  
They had tumbled into bed half dressed, kissed and touched before he had settled between her thighs and slowly entered her. He hadn’t rushed, or been too ‘enthusiastic’ but he had been good. He hadn’t taken her to the moon and back but he had scratched an itch she didn’t know she had.  
He was awake when she returned wearing a beautiful black embroidered satin robe.  
“You ok?” he asked feeling a little as if he had taken advantage of a friend, and a friendship.  
“Yes, Charlie, I am,” she smiled softly. “Are you?”  
“I do believe I am, dear girl,” he hummed, “but …”  
“Quite,” she nodded, “friends?”  
“Always.”  
“Good, because I believe mother has invited your lot down for the weekend, again.”  
“Doesn’t give up, does she?” he sat up and reached for his shirt, “how do you want to play it?”  
“As we usually do, close but not this, don’t for god’s sake let her know we have … “ she shrugged.  
“I shall be the perfect gentleman,” he slipped out of bed and pulled on the rest of his clothes.  
He kissed her cheek as he left and told her he would see her at the weekend. She closed the door and went to bathe before heading back to the family home and Aurelie.

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“Maman!” Aurelie flung herself into Phryne’s arms.  
Phryne swung her around and laughed, “Bonjour, ma petite,” she kissed her, “have you been good?”  
“She’s been fine, Miss Phryne,” Mary came through from the kitchen, “she’s never any bother.”  
“Just as well,” Phryne set her down on the floor and reached into her handbag, “otherwise …” she dangled a little bag of sweets in front of her daughter, “I would have to eat these.”  
“Peach babies?” Aurelie’s eyes widened, “oh, Maman, thank you.”  
“One now, got to make them last,” her mother laughed, “maybe one later. Now, “she took off her hat and shook out her hair, how was your riding lesson yesterday?”

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The weeks drew out into months and soon spring and Aurelie’s birthday were upon them. Phryne wondered, as mother’s often do, where the past five years had gone. Aurelie was becoming almost as independent as her mother, riding her little pony into the village alongside her mother and occasionally Charlie if they were keeping up their pretence of ‘courting’. Margaret had resigned herself to Phryne not being in the slightest bit interested in Gordon Heronlea – and certainly not after that fateful weekend.  
It was the weekend after Charlie and Phryne had, in their words, sealed the deal to be just friends, and it had not gone well. After Charlie had told Phryne Anna’s story and she had met the young woman, he reminded her how it had come to pass, and to look out for Gordon.  
“I don’t trust him, Phryne, I don’t trust him not to try to do to you what he did to Anna,” he took her aside after dinner on the Friday night, “please, be careful.”  
“I think he’ll get more than he bargained for if he tries anything,” she mused, “but I’ll watch out, I promise.”  
Margaret had decided there would be dancing on the Saturday evening, and invited a few other local worthies to join them and it was during a waltz that Gordon Heronlea decided to start his campaign to steal Phryne from Charlie. He took her to the floor and she found him a capable if slightly plodding dancer, but, it was not his feet that she had to watch. His hold was too tight, he held her too close and he breathed in her ear.  
“He shan’t have you, you know, Miss Fisher, if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed.  
“And what is good for me, Gordon?” she asked cloyingly sweet, she refused to be intimidated, not anymore.  
“Me,” he squeezed her hand, “Charlie’s a wet blanket, only a Lieutenant, doesn’t push himself. Two sons, at least,” he continued, “maybe a daughter, but I’m not bothered.”  
“And what about my daughter, Gordon, where does she come in your scheme?”  
He snorted.  
“I don’t think so, Gordon, thank you, but I’m quite happy with Charlie.” The dance finished and she disentangled herself. Giving a little bow she headed back to Charlie who was glowering at the edge of the dancefloor.  
“Are you alright?” he asked as he handed her a glass of champagne.  
“Perfectly fine,” she smiled, “he practically proposed, two sons but Aurelie doesn’t feature in his vision. I declined his offer.”  
“Care to foxtrot, Phryne?” he saw Gordon approaching over her shoulder.  
“Love to, darling,” she spoke loud enough to be heard and took his hand.  
The rest of the evening had continued with her being passed between the brothers, at least that’s what it seemed to her. Gordon continued his onslaught of threats if she didn’t acquiesce to his proposal. Some threats involved what he would do to Charlie, some to her parents, some to her but it was the one to Aurelie that really had her riled. If she agreed to marry him he would leave the child alone and she could see to her as she wished, if she didn’t then:  
“I know about your sister,” was all he would say.  
“And I know about Anna,” she countered. Sadly, that only served to anger him and while he was coming up with a reply, she excused herself and said she would head down to the Dower House.  
Charlie offered to escort her but she just kissed his cheek and smiled.  
“I’ll be fine,” she allowed him to drape her wrap over her shoulders and see her out of the front door.  
The night was cold and she was glad of her fox fur. The sound of music floated from the house and she hummed to herself as she walked down the drive. She wouldn’t admit that Gordon’s comment about Janey had rattled her, but if he continued in this vein she would be on her guard. She couldn’t understand why his parents still wanted them to become a couple, surely they could see what a monster he was?  
Behind her she heard footsteps on the gravel, and, thinking it was Charlie being chivalrous as always, she paused, and turned.  
She fought like a tiger, kicking and scratching as Gordon dragged her towards some shrubbery. He was strong, a big man, heavy but she was agile, lithe, and squirmed in his grasp. He pulled at her dress, covered her face with her fur to muffled her cries but as she kicked out with her heels it was he who cried out.  
“BITCH!”, he dropped her to the floor and clutched his genitals.  
“Help!” she screamed and continued to kick out at him. “Charlie!”  
There was a rush of feet and a calling of her name and suddenly hands lifted her up and Charlie was holding her.  
“What the …?!” Henry roared, “Phryne?”  
“I’m alright, father,” she gasped.  
“You …!” Charlie glared at his brother but his next word was covered by Phryne’s finger over his lips.  
He pushed her into Henry’s arms and took a step forward.  
The blow that he delivered to Gordon knocked the already stricken man to the floor – and broke his jaw.  
“Charlie!” Lady Heronlea screamed.  
“That’s for Phryne,” Charlie took a boxer’s stance, “Get up, you bloody coward! I want to give you one for Anna!”  
“Anna?” Lord Heronlea frowned, “she got cold feet.”  
“No, she didn’t” Charlie turned to him, “he raped her, and when she told him she was going to have his baby he sent her to have it seen to. It near killed her …”  
“Gordon?” his father looked down on him, “is this true? Speak up boy!”  
Gordon could only groan.  
“I’ve met Anna,” Phryne murmured, “there but for the grace of god … “  
Lady Heronlea went pale and had to be helped back into the house, Lord Heronlea dragged his moaning son up from the ground and all but frog marched him into the house.

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The scene that met the doctor, called from his bed and the warm arms of his lovely young wife, was one he hoped never to see again. He gave Gordon some pain relief and strapped his jaw closed until such time as a hospital surgeon could repair it. The damage to his genitalia would calm down in a day or two, but he suggested he desist from any activities of a sexual nature, which had the two older ladies blush somewhat.  
The whole story came out; Charlie told how he was paying for Anna to stay in a special hospital, that she spent her days sitting nursing a baby doll because she could not comprehend the baby did not exist. He said his brother was a coward and it was common knowledge that he had shot himself in the thigh to get away from the front.  
“What makes that worse is that women like Phryne stayed, through the mud, the bombardments, the sheer bloody hell of it all and a big lump like him ran away like a baby.” Charlie sat back and breathed at last.  
Everybody stared at him, even Phryne, he had never told her about Gordon’s believed cowardice.  
“I’m sorry, Phryne,” Lady Heronlea had recovered enough to speak to her, “we just thought you would be good for Gordon, because you’re strong and we believe that’s what he needs. If we’d known about Anna, and the truth about the gunshot wound we would never have entertained the idea.”  
“It’s Charlie you should apologise to,” Phryne sighed, “he’s a good man, kind and gentle but with an inner strength. He told me that he would have taken on the baby if he’d known rather than Anna have to go through what she did. I’m not interested in getting married, Lady Heronlea, to anyone. I am fond of Charlie, but we both agreed we would be friends and he would try to keep Gordon away from me. But Gordon only wanted me because he thought Charlie had me. I will never let another man ‘own’ me.”

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Peach babies are now known as Jelly Babies.  
>  £1 in 1928 is worth approximately £60 now, so it was a generous offer Phryne made Herbert Ryan.


	4. Subverting Margaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Henry do their best to stop Margaret arranging Phryne's marriage. Her relationship with Phryne goes from bad to worse as she continues to try to hide Aurelie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: there is some racism in this chapter from one of the characters, comments which the author does not believe in.

Aurelie’s birthday provided Phryne with a brief respite from the Baroness’ continued goal of seeing her married and settled with a respectable gentleman. Being an Easter baby there was plenty going on in the village: an Easter egg hunt, Easter bonnet parade, a baby animals themed church service and Phryne, at Mary’s suggestion, invited a few children who would be in Aurelie’s class when or if she did eventually start school to have tea in the garden of the Dower house.  
“Nothing too fancy or rich,” she mused, “we don’t want to flaunt in front of them, embarrass them.”  
“No, Miss,” Mary agreed, “maybe just afternoon tea, sandwiches and cake?”  
“That sounds lovely,” Phryne nodded.  
So Aurelie had her little tea party. Phryne arranged a little egg hunt with china eggs filled with sweets and a little silver rabbit. They weren’t expensive but they were very sweet and there were squeals of delight as each one was uncovered. They played a short game of blind man’s bluff then the tea was brought out for them to have seated on blankets on the grass. The whole event lasted two hours before the village children were collected by their mothers. Two hours was enough for Aurelie who was used to being with her mother and Mary and occasionally seeing other children in church on Sundays or if they were at the tea rooms, and Phryne was glad it was only once a year.  
They ate an early dinner together and after a quick bath Aurelie was tucked up in bed and read to, for a very short while.  
“Are you alright, Miss?” Mary poured her a whisky and noticed a faraway look.  
“Hm, oh yes, I think so,” she sipped the drink and nodded towards Aurelie’s room, “it’s just … well she gets more like Janey, my sister.”  
“She went missing? Sorry, that’s all I heard.”  
“Yes, we were children, snuck into the circus and I got distracted.” Phryne bit her lip, “we never found out the truth, the man that took her is in prison but we don’t know where she is. Aurelie looks so much like her, her hair colour, when she cuddles up to me in bed like Janey used to do … I seem to have started to miss her more than I have for years. Oh, I’ve always missed her but it seems to be getting harder, recently.”  
Mary wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew that the Baroness had thrown Janey in her face when they argued over Aurelie.

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Phryne didn’t get much in the way of post, usually; letters from her new friends that she partied with in London were the most she usually received so she was most surprised to receive first a package from Paris and second a letter from Melbourne.  
The package unnerved her, at first. It was flat, rectangular and carefully packaged. She opened it in the garden, at arm’s length in case something untoward happened. She gasped and looked around, it was a painting Pierre Sarcelle had done of her in her early days of modelling, pre-Aurelie, when she first met René, a reclining nude which left nothing to the imagination. It brought tears and memories, happy memories of a time when she was actually enjoying being so free. There was a short note from Veronique, his wife.  
“Ma Chere Phryne,  
I know Pierre would want you to have this. I am sorry to say that he was killed in a rail accident shortly after you left and it has taken some time to work out where you have gone. I am hoping I have got it right and you have taken Aurelie somewhere she will be safe. I have not told René where I think you are, but be aware he was very angry when you left.  
I hope you are both well.  
Veronique.”  
She always knew Veronique would keep her secret, even if she had to work it out for herself, but she hoped René would not also make the connection and search for her, but he had even less money than the Sarcelles. She shed a few tears over Pierre, he was always kind to her and wondered what kind of rail accident it was. The station at Montparnasse was always busy and it was where he would start his journey to take any pictures to exhibitions. She couldn’t hang the painting in the house where Aurelie could see it, and it might be a bit much for Mary to see; it definitely couldn’t go up to the main house, it would scandalise her mother even more, though her father may have a wry smile at his daughter’s perceived daring. Perhaps when she found her ‘forever’ home she would be able to hang it somewhere. She wasn’t ashamed, but she was mindful of other’s sensibilities, at least the people currently around her and it wouldn’t do to have another ‘discussion’ with her mother on her Parisian lifestyle.  
The other letter appeared to have gone round places she may have lived and was months old. Addresses had been crossed out until someone had written on it try the family home and addressed it thus. She could barely make out the original writing and the return address had been covered with a label sending it onwards.  
She nearly dropped her tea cup when she opened the letter.  
“Dear Phryne,  
I have no idea if this will find you next week or next year, but I had to try to find you, find out how you are. Darling girl, you are so hard to track down, so I hope you are well, enjoying life and settled somewhere comfortable. Can you enjoy life and be settled? Only you could tell me that.  
I am now working at the Women’s Hospital in Melbourne. Many’s the time I wander the wards and think of that day we dragged your mother in after a nasty fall. We were so young, but determined, and it was that incident that set me on the path to medicine. Then you grew up and left for England and then we met again at the front. I hope the device I gave you saved you from any heartache, or trouble. Did you escape unscathed, was Paris all you hoped it would be?  
Please send me a note, a letter, anything to let me know you are alright, I miss our whisky fuelled deliberations on the male of the species – not for me, darling, I’ll leave that all to you.  
All my love, hugs and friendship,  
Mac.  
PS: this is the tenth letter I have sent, all the others have come back, I hope this one doesn’t.”  
Phryne put her hand over her mouth and struggled to contain the tears – Mac, dear old Mac. How they had fought their way through life. Mac had been there to pick up the pieces when she fell at the front and she in turn had been at her side in the hastily erected operating theatres, mopping up the blood from the gunshot wounds, the amputations, while Mac tried to put the poor sods back together, physically, and she held their hands through their fever fuelled dreams and as they succumbed to infection and defeat. Then they would find a corner of a tent and drown their sorrows in harsh whisky or the local cognac. She wouldn’t know about René or Aurelie, would be knocked off her feet with surprise that Phryne was a mother, but maybe she would understand why she hadn’t found someone to terminate the pregnancy, to follow René’s orders.  
She noted the address at the top of Mac’s letter and decided to send a telegram to the hospital, just to answer the first question, that she was alright and then write a letter, a long letter and perhaps Mary could take a photograph of her and Aurelie, just to prove she wasn’t teasing when she dropped the bombshell.

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“Doctor! Doctor!” a nurse ran up to Dr Macmillan, “telegram, just arrived.”  
“Oh,” Mac frowned, telegrams were usually bad news, “is the boy still here?”  
“I gave him a tip,” the nurse shook her head.  
“Pass by my office later, I’ll pay you back.” She took the envelope and moved to the side of the corridor and took a deep breath.  
“TO DR E MACMILLAN STOP  
I’M FINE STOP LETTER TO FOLLOW STOP  
PHRYNE STOP”  
Mac slid down the wall much to the nurse’s consternation.  
“Doctor, are you alright?” she crouched down in front of her and touched her arm.  
Mac could only nod tears of joy spilling down her cheeks. She passed the paper to the nurse who let out a breath of relief.  
“Come on, doctor,” she hauled her up, “I think you need a nip out of that bottle you keep in your desk, “and you don’t need to pay me back.”  
In the office the nurse sat her down and poured her a good shot of whisky. She waited while she drank.  
“I’ve been trying to find out what happened to her for so long. She’s my dearest friend, we survived Collingwood and the war and then I lost track of her. You have no idea how relieved I am.” Mac poured herself another drink and offered one to the nurse.  
“No, thanks, but if Matron smells it …” she made a gesture with her hand across her throat. “I’m glad your friend is alright.”  
“So am I, nurse, so am I.”

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“Who is the picture for, maman?” Aurelie wriggled on her knee as Mary got ready to take the picture.  
“A very dear friend of mine, Aurelie.” Phryne pulled her close, “she is a doctor and I have known her for many years. She wrote to me and I thought it would be nice to send her a photograph of the both of us.”  
“Will she come to see us?”  
“Hm, unlikely, ma cherie,” Phryne shook her head, “she lives in Australia, a long way away, one day, perhaps I shall take you to meet her.”  
“Will you show me where Australia is, on the map, maman?” Aurelie leant into her, “how long would it take to get there?”  
“You have such an inquiring mind, ma petite,” her mother laughed, then frowned as she heard the shutter click, “but it would take a month, or more to get there on a ship.”  
“Can’t we drive there, or go on a train?”  
“By ship, it’s across an ocean,” Phryne kissed her head, “but I will take you, one day. It’s where I was born, where Grandpapa and Grandmama used to live.”  
Mary took a couple more pictures, one more staged than the other two and then the film was sent to be processed. It would be at least a week so that gave Phryne plenty of time to compose her reply to Mac.

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“That’s not a letter, Miss,” Mary nodded to the papers on Phryne’s small writing desk, “that’s your memoirs.”  
Phryne laughed, “It does seem a bit like it doesn’t it? But there is so much to tell Mac, I haven’t seen her since nineteen-eighteen.”  
“So, all this,” Mary swept her hand round the room, “and Aurelie, is going to be a big surprise to her.”  
“And then some,” Phryne nodded and took the cup of tea Mary had brought in. “The last she knew I was heading to Paris and another adventure, at least that was what it was supposed to be.”  
“It was though, wasn’t it, I mean you did some new things …”  
Phryne nodded and swallowed, “… modelling, living a life that I hoped would put the war behind me. I stopped taking things seriously, in fact I don’t always do that now.”  
“Just Aurelie and keeping her safe,” Mary noted.  
“Of course.”  
When Phryne finally finished the letter, the pages of elegant script, she enclosed the picture Mary had taken in that unguarded moment when she was laughing at Aurelie’s curiosity, they all agreed it was the best one.

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After Phryne and Charlie had slept together she discovered that the itch needed scratching on more than one occasion. Charlie had reminded her that she could be in control of her sexual needs, and that not all men would hurt her, or force her to do something she didn’t want. She and Charlie had continued to meet up and go dancing, but if she left with a different man then he wasn’t upset, after all they had agreed it was only for show, only to keep her mother happy. She was careful, chose her partners wisely for the most part and none of them were known to her parents, so word didn’t seem to get back to them. It also seemed to have given Charlie a new lease of life and he started leaving the dances with other women, and one evening he met someone who would mean more to him than the others.  
Evadne was a secretary at a law firm. She was pretty, intelligent and could dance the feet off him. She also got on famously with Phryne, so for the three of them to appear at a club was not unusual.  
“Bring her over to the Dower anytime you like, Charlie,” Phryne suggested, “that’s if you can bear her to know you associate with unwed mothers.”  
“Tea and currant buns?” he winked.  
“Well, do you think you would get away with anything less, you know what Aurelie’s like.”  
When Evadne heard the story of Aurelie she wanted to hear more of Phryne’s life in Paris.  
“I’ve never been, I’d love to,” she smiled, “but the parents are rather worried I’d fall into bad company.”  
“I modelled for some of them,” Phryne shrugged, “but you don’t have to go anywhere near them, steer clear of Montparnasse and you should be safe.”  
“Wow!” Evadne’s eyes widened, “do you have any of the pictures?”  
“Er …” Phryne cleared her throat, “I have one, it was sent to me by the artist’s wife after he was killed, but I don’t have it hanging, not in front of Aurelie or the maid.”  
“Phryne Fisher, don’t tell me it’s a nude,” she hissed.  
Phryne just rolled her eyes innocently and finished her cocktail.  
“Oh, I must see that,” she grinned, “Charlie?”  
“Lunch, next week,” Phryne suggested generously, “at the Dower House, and I’ll let you see it, if I can get Mary to take Aurelie for a walk.”  
“That would be lovely,” Evadne agreed.  
“Call me to confirm the day, Phryne,” Charlie grinned, though he did wonder what the Baroness would think about him bringing a lady friend to his supposed girl-friend’s home for lunch, a point he brought up.  
“Don’t worry, she’s realised that we are just friends,” Phryne pursed her lips, “she’s out on the prowl for another unsuspecting male.”< br /> Charlie and Evadne both burst out laughing at the thought of Lady Fisher hunting down unmarried men of appropriate social standing. However, it would seem Margaret had not learned her lesson after Gordon. Once she realised that Charlie and Phryne were just good friends the campaign had started up again. Now, though, when Phryne excused herself at the end of one of these evenings, Henry escorted her down to the Dower House. It was also the best time to discuss or suggest times for them to go over the investment in the Flying Club, and for her to chastise him if he had gone overboard with betting on a racehorse or drunk a little more than was good for him. But, the one thing Phryne liked about these short times, was that her father was more of a father than he ever had been. He was happy, and that meant he was kinder. He was still quick tempered but much less violent than when she was a child and the temper dissipated quickly with the right handling. He had agreed with her that Aurelie had much of the look of Janey and they would sit and talk about the day she went missing and what had been done to find her. Nobody had been able to work out what had been behind Murdoch Foyle’s thinking when he abducted the girls and he would never even give them a hint as to his reasoning.  
“Your mother is getting ready to go up to London,” he mused one evening, “for the Season.”  
Phryne rolled her eyes, the London Marriage Market was the alternative name for the months spent in the city, attending balls and dinners, luncheons and breakfasts, the races and new exhibitions at the Royal Academy. All intending to marry daughters and sons of similar backgrounds, regardless of whether or not that marriage would produce happiness. Most of these pairings saw young girls chaperoned as they walked out with young men and it gave them no time to get to know a prospective spouse. Phryne was a little old to be paraded around, the other girls would be eighteen, maybe as old as twenty-one but at twenty-seven she was an old maid! Except she wasn’t; single, yes, an old maid, never, and even if she never married, she would never be described as that. All the other girls would be presented at court but Phryne had managed to avoid that when she was young and refused to be pushed into it now. If she happened across a member of the Royal Family at a ball she would behave herself, but she would not be presented.  
“Phryne …” her mother implored.  
“I am a widow, mother, remember,” she frowned, “I don’t think widows are usually presented. Perfectly acceptable for you to give that as a reason.”  
“Of course, Aurelie will have to stay here,” Margaret huffed.  
“We will stay at the Savoy, mother,” Phryne growled, “Aurelie will have Mary to look after her during the day and when I attend a function, but I am not leaving her here for four months.”  
“I expect you to stay at our London house, Phryne …”  
“Now, Margaret, perhaps at the Savoy, eh?” Henry soothed, “perhaps we can arrange an escort for Phryne …” he looked across at his currently seething daughter and raised an eyebrow, “I am sure I can find a suitable, well connected chap.”  
“Father …” Phryne ground her teeth.  
He patted her hand and something in his face told her they would discuss it later.  
“Very well, but I am still taking Aurelie,” she turned on her heel, “I need to see my dressmaker.”  
Margaret had already had a short trip to Paris to have her dresses made but Phryne had refused point blank to accompany her. She knew of someone who could introduce her to Hartnell, she would go there. Strangely, Phryne was prudent in her shopping, choosing dresses and gowns she could alter with a cleverly attached decoration and removal of the same, and skirts and bodices that could be mix and matched and still looked like full dresses. Her mother spent a lot in Paris and it left her father scratching his head over the bank statements. Thank goodness the return in the investments he had Phryne look over had been good, not wonderful, but good enough.  
As to Phryne’s escort, her father met up with her in London on one of her shopping trips and introduced her to Lord Royston. He was a little older than Phryne, elegant and refined, well versed in the arts and literature and not in the least interested in marrying, and Phryne could see why. She was not his type, nor were any of the young ladies that were being presented! Henry liked him because he was well read and a good conversationalist, he had a wonderful, if risqué, sense of humour and Henry knew that he and Phryne would get along splendidly. 

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The Season could have been worse, it could have been better if she hadn’t had to attend. Lord Royston made many of the functions bearable, he danced her off her feet at some balls, introduced her to some of his more avant garde friends. Her mother was quite satisfied that she seemed to be engaged in appropriate gatherings, and she liked Royston, who Phryne had taken to calling ‘Roy’, having no idea that he was uninterested in her daughter as a life partner, or why.  
They attended a viewing at the Royal Academy that, surprisingly had a small selection of paintings from Paris, from lesser known artists.  
“I say, old girl,” Roy nodded towards a seated nude, draped in green velvet by an imagined stream, “she’s a bit like you.”  
Phryne bit the inside of her cheek, “Ah, Sarcelle, knew him when I was in Paris,” she whispered.  
“I see,” he winked, “he had a lovely subject.”  
“Why thank you, Roy,” she grinned, “you should see the one that’s at home, not on display of course, mother would be scandalised.”  
“According to your father she already is,” he replied.  
Phryne threw back her head and roared with laughter, causing everyone to look round and her mother to scowl. While people had turned in surprise when they saw her with his Lordship they turned back, they all knew he would have teased her.

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The last ball Phryne attended was the one Margaret was most hopeful about. It was to be attended by Edward, Prince of Wales. Of course, Freda Dudley Ward would be there she always was, but Margaret was never one to let a married paramour stand in the way of pushing her own daughter forward. The introductions went well, Phryne spoke to His Highness and spent some time discussing art with Mrs Dudley Ward. Lord Royston made sure his companion had drinks when she needed them and steered her round the dance floor. Of course, most of the women danced with Edward, when he pointed them out to his host who would them go and speak quietly to whoever he had spotted and politely escort them over to him. Phryne had rolled her eyes at Roy but did her duty and danced a close waltz with him. Conversation was stilted; he asked why he hadn’t seen her before and she told him she had been in Paris since the war.  
“Full of blasted Frenchmen,” he grumbled.  
“Sir,” she hummed, bridling a little, a Frenchman would not have been so impolite about an Englishman, “it is their city.”  
“Too many damned foreigners here tonight,” he nodded over to a Sikh and his gorgeous wife, “god knows how they got the invitation.”  
“I believe he is the younger son of a Maharaja, Sir,” Phryne muttered.  
“Pah, we rule India,” he huffed. “Now, m’dear,” he changed the subject, “I don’t recognise your accent, not born here?”  
Phryne must have let her Collingwood accent slip a little in her ire at his dismissal of non-native attendees.  
“No, Sir, I was born in Melbourne, Australia,” she straightened her back a little, which Roy had come to know was a sign she was getting annoyed. “My father is the Baron Fisher of Richmond upon Thames.”  
“Ah, yes went there once, nineteen twenty I think,” he cleared his throat, “how d’ye deal with those abo fellas?”  
“I’m sorry, Sir?” she stumbled.  
“Well, near to monkeys, aren’t they, and living out in the bush …” he didn’t notice her grind her teeth but she held her tongue and decided she would make her excuses.  
“I’m sorry, Sir, it is a little warm in here,” she dropped her hand from his arm, “I think I need some fresh air.”  
“Oh, the garden?” he smiled.  
“No, Sir,” she dipped a curtsey, “I am sure Mrs Dudley-Ward will be happy to finish this dance.”  
He scowled, but she was as polite as she could be and the last thing she wanted to do was spend time out in the garden with an out and out racist. She turned and raised one eyebrow in Royston’s direction. He came over and offered his arm.< br /> “Think she’s a little overcome, Royston,” his Highness smiled, “not used to such society …”  
Royston bowed and escorted Phryne away.  
“Drink, Phryne?”  
“Home, Roy,” she hissed, “he is quite rude.”  
As she passed the Indian Prince she gave a little bow and smile, just so Edward could see she held none of his feelings against different races. The Prince smiled and bowed back.

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“Are you alright, old girl?” Royston draped her wrap over her shoulders.  
“Did you know he hates non-English people?” She declined his offer to hail a cab, “that he refers to Aboriginals as near monkeys?”  
“I did hear a whisper, years ago,” he admitted, “but why did he mention it to you?”  
“He didn’t think the Prince should have been there, because of the British Empire, I must have let my accent come out, mother used to berate me for sounding like I come from the backstreets of Collingwood, which I do, but she said there was no need to advertise it; anyway he asked how I deal with those ‘abo fellas’ …”  
“Ah, quite rude,” Roy hummed.  
“When you’ve been where I’ve been, seen what I’ve seen, and many others like me and those who served … you take people as you find them, Roy.”  
“Indeed,” he patted her hand, “I fought alongside some, y’know,” he stopped and smiled at her, “good chaps.”  
He declined to enlighten her, and she understood.  
“Don’t tell His Highness, “ he added after some silence, “but I have an Indian valet. If you ever fancy a curry meal …”  
“Roy, that would be delightful,” she smiled, “and I won’t tell his High and Mightiness, I doubt I shall ever meet him again.” 

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Margaret was absolutely beside herself when Phryne danced with the Prince of Wales, Henry just raised a glass of whisky and let her bask in the glory. He was under no illusion that it had gone well because he had been watching, and Phryne never left her dance partner in the middle of a dance.  
“I just don’t know what we do about Aurelie, I mean if she should get closer,” Margaret squeezed his arm as they headed home.  
“I wouldn’t count your chickens, dear,” he handed her into a taxi, “he has the Dudley-Ward woman …”  
“She’s married, Henry, and she can’t hold a candle to our daughter,” Margaret huffed, “suppose he comes to the house, in Somerset? ”  
“That won’t happen, Margaret,” he sighed, “quite ridiculous, the very thought.”  
“We must redecorate …”  
“We shall discuss this later, dear,” he sat back in the taxi and rolled his eyes, sometimes his wife had the most fanciful ideas. He’d better let Phryne know.  
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“What!?” Henry held the receiver away from his ear as he listened to Phryne tell him exactly how she felt about the Prince. “Seriously, father, has she lost her mind?”  
“Living in a fantasyland, Phryne,” he sighed, “we’ll get through it. Any messages?”  
“Yes, tell her I’m dining with Lord Royston, that should shut her up,” she snapped, glad she had taken Roy up on his offer to dine on curry and other assorted Indian dishes.  
“Really?” he gasped, “but I thought …”  
“And you would be right, doesn’t mean I can’t dine with him.”  
“She’ll arrange the wedding,” he warned.  
“I’ll deal with that,” Phryne shrugged.  
She spent a few days with her daughter, clearing her diary to take her to the zoo, to a picnic in a park and to a matinee at the theatre and she even took her riding on Rotten Row in Hyde Park, though finding a small enough horse proved problematical. Roy was kind enough to help her with that, and even joined them.  
“Your father tells me your mother is planning our wedding, if you don’t catch the Prince,” he muttered, “what are your plans?”< br /> “This has been going on since I came home, Roy,” she sighed and steered Aurelie to keep close to her, “I am seriously considering moving back to Melbourne and putting distance between me and my family.”  
“Including your father?”  
“I am the cause of some arguments between them, father is siding with me, and mother is pushing against both of us. I believe father would be better off with me out of the way and mother can give up on getting me married off.” She pouted, “I need Aurelie to be settled properly and the atmosphere between me and mother is upsetting her, and I don’t like it either. The poor child thinks her Grandmama doesn’t like her anymore and she doesn’t know what she has done wrong.”  
“And what has she done wrong?” Roy thought the child was sweet, she was well behaved and though he would never have children of his own he was quite easy in her presence.  
“She was born,” Phryne sniffed, “and I neglected to marry her father first.”  
“Let not the sins of the father …” he smiled, “… or the mother.”  
“Exactly.” She shrugged.

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Phryne decided she would head back to Somerset before the end of the Season. She had made enough conquests for the time being, she had enjoyed dining on Indian food with Roy and her mother was still smiling because she had danced with the Prince of Wales. She’d also danced with a few other notable gentlemen and the Indian prince, just to be daring and his wife didn’t seem to mind. She had attended a couple of race meetings, won a little bit of money and stopped her father gambling away the family fortune, such as it was, so she felt she had been a dutiful daughter. 

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“Phryne, there are two other balls that the Prince will be attending, you can’t just decide you’ve had enough,” Margaret huffed, “and what about Lord Royston?”  
“Oh, Roy is heading off to his estate,” she shrugged, “got to see to starting the grouse shoot.”  
“And you won’t be there?” Margaret raised her eyebrows, and also her voice seemed to go up in pitch.  
“No, I have given him my apologies,” she smiled sweetly, “the grouse haven’t done anything to me.” The excuse was weak, but Margaret didn’t know what Phryne’s thoughts on shooting grouse were, or pheasant or any game really, and she thought she would get away with it.  
“You’re quite happy to eat it though.”  
Phryne tipped her head, “Actually I prefer pheasant.”

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Margaret wasn’t happy that Phryne refused to join her and Henry for the rest of the Season but her daughter was strong, headstrong, and she would have to find a reason, an excuse for her absence.  
In the end she implied that as Phryne had served at the front guns upset her, gave her nightmares. She invited Lord Royston to Somerset for a weekend at the end of the Season. Roy provisionally accepted but wondered if Phryne would have left by then, if she wanted to avoid rough seas.

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Phryne found a letter waiting for her when she and Aurelie returned from London. It was from Mac.

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When Dr Macmillan had received the rather large envelope from England she tucked it into her bag and decided she would read it with a large whisky in the evening. Phryne must have a lot to tell her, she thought, nearly ten years of adventures, knowing Phryne she assumed it would be full of parties and wild goings on in Paris.  
She sat in a battered arm chair, one she had liberated from a house in France and brought over when she returned to her home city. It was comfortable, many’s the time she had fallen asleep in it after a trying day at the hospital, and one that never gave her a crick in her neck.  
She poured herself a drink and slit the envelope open, shook out the pages of Phryne’s recognisable script, elegant and even, every line straight as an arrow and a stiffer page, a photograph on the back of which was an inscription that she read before she looked at the picture:  
“Aurelie, aged 5 years, with her maman.  
Easter, 1928.”  
She had no idea who Aurelie was, but perhaps her mother was a mutual friend. She turned it over and swallowed a large mouthful of whisky, then poured another.  
“Phryne!” she shouted to the air, “you, a mother?”  
She looked closely at the two faces, Phryne’s hair was shorter, a fashionable bob, and the little girl – even she remembered Janey, it was almost like looking at a ghost.  
She turned her attention to the letter, where she knew all would be revealed. She alternatively cried and laughed, cursed all males when she read of René’s treatment of her dearest friend, and cheered her resolve when she had left him.  
She grimaced as she read of Margaret’s need to marry her daughter off and the way she had persisted over Gordon Heronlea, but was glad she had found a friend in Charlie.  
So, she sat back in her chair and raised a toast to the inimitable Honourable Phryne Fisher, and hoped she would see her soon, and meet Aurelie, who sounded rather like her mother.

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Margaret and Henry had one of their worst discussions; it couldn’t be called and argument; it wasn’t heated, it was quiet anger, frustration on Margaret’s part and sadness on Henry’s; since Phryne had returned, but she blamed Phryne.  
“She wants nothing to do with the Prince,” he had started quietly, “Margaret, see sense, she didn’t like him. He insulted our countrymen …”  
“…and Lord Royston?” she glared at him.  
“Ah, yes, well he was willing to escort Phryne, but he wasn’t interested, isn’t interested in her as a wife. He thinks she is delightful company,” he smiled, “and will happily escort her to dinners and dances, but that is all.”  
“So Phryne put you up to finding her someone who she could be seen with to avoid potential suitors?” Margaret seethed, “you were both in it, so she could continue to embarrass me, how many did she tell about the child?”  
“As far as I know it is only Roy that knows, of the people we met this year,” he shrugged, “Phryne doesn’t want to get married, love …” he put his hand on her arm, he would rather have a screaming match with his wife than her controlled seethe.  
“I don’t care what she wants,” Margaret glowered, “I want her to be able to walk with her head help up high, and for me to be proud of her.”  
“Oh, Phryne’s head is high, and I am proud of her, for her strength, you should be too,” Henry straightened his shoulders.  
“Well, she embarrasses me,” she snapped, “turning up with a bastard brat in tow, and refusing to keep her out of sight, it’s … it’s …” the door opened and their daughter walked in.  
“I’m sorry I disappoint you mother,” she said quietly, “but I will not be owned by any man, I’m sorry if that’s what you want for me, because it is hypocritical, isn’t it? Grandfather didn’t want you to marry father, but you did, you went against those wishes …”  
“Phryne, that is no concern of yours, I knew your father was going to rise up, he assured me he would, the title …”  
“Even he wasn’t completely sure about it, mother,” she folded her arms, “he will admit that. Maybe I am more like you than you would like me to be, but it isn’t the twilight waltz, and I haven’t lost all reason. I am who I am, and as it is not what you want Aurelie and I shall be leaving as soon as I can arrange passage. I am going home, mother, where I belong.”  
“Collingwood?!”  
“I think I can afford something a little better than Collingwood, now,” Phryne hummed, “I shall see when I get there … oh, and by the way, never refer to my daughter in that way again.”  
She turned to her father, “The finances should run themselves, father, you don’t need to do anything except spend wisely.”  
And with that she was out of the house for the last time. She would stay in the Dower House for as long as it took her to pack up, then she and Aurelie would stay at the Savoy while she arranged the trip and where she would stay when she arrived in Melbourne.

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She read Mac’s short letter that told of how she had left the front and gone to work at the Women’s in Melbourne. That she had a little flat and a few friends. She told her that her Aunt Prudence Stanley was on the hospital board and she had to suffer meetings on a too regular basis.  
“Mrs Stanley doesn’t approve of my dress code,” she wrote, “and because the last you saw of me was as you left the carnage I’ve had one of the nurses take a photo so you might be able to understand.”  
Phryne looked at the picture of her friend. Her trademark red hair, though the picture was in black and white of course, tucked up under a smart man’s fedora. She wore a tailored jacket over a waistcoat and open neck shirt with a cravat. Her trousers were perfectly tailored and she wore smart Oxford brogues.  
“I can see what you mean, Mac,” Phryne murmured, “but eminently practical in your line of work. Must see if I can get some trousers … “she continued reading the letter which told how Melbourne had changed in places but Collingwood was much the same. Mac expressed her surprise at Aurelie and agreed with her that she had a look of Janey and seemed to understand why she had not done something rash.  
“I hope you still use the device,” she had written in response to Phryne admitting she was, on occasion, taking someone to her bed but she had no plans to marry, “but do take care, my darling, please.”  
Phryne wrote a quick reply saying she was heading home on the next ship, with Aurelie and the nursery maid – Mary had agreed rather enthusiastically to continue in her employ – and she would telegram when she would arrive.  
“I think I shall take a suite at the Windsor, telegram if you think this is not the best place to stay, but when I was a child it was my ambition to stay at the swankiest place in town.”

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Aurelie, her mother was pleased to find, was very excited at a trip on a ship all the way to Australia. It didn’t look far, if she looked at the map, but her mother assured her it would be quite a long time, a month; four Sundays and the days in between but there would be plenty to do on board and if she was a good girl she would take her ashore when they docked at some of the ports. Young as she was, Phryne thought it would be an education for her; she had led an almost nomadic life in her five years on the earth but they would settle in Melbourne, she would go to school and make friends. Her mother hoped she would be able to set down roots – though how Aunt Prudence was going to view her she didn’t know. She didn’t even know if her mother had told her sister about the child – unlikely, given her animosity.  
“Maman,” Aurelie was helping her to pack her clothes, “what about Spud? Can he come too?”  
Phryne stopped folding dresses and sat down. “Well, ma petite,” she pulled her close, “you see, ponies don’t like being on ships, and he wouldn’t be able to get out and go for a trot …”  
“What will happen to him?” her bottom lip trembled.  
“I think we should give him to someone who deserves him, perhaps the vicar?” she had thought long and hard about this, Aurelie loved her pony and riding to the village, “they have a little girl don’t they, perhaps Sylvia would like to learn to ride. Spud can stay here, with Walter and Mr Ryan until he’s needed, what do you think?”  
“I think so, I like Sylvia and Reverend Pearson is nice,” she nodded, “yes, maman, let’s do that.”  
Phryne was glad her daughter could be that generous, and perhaps they could find some stables in Melbourne that she could hire a pony when needed.

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“I wish you weren’t going, Phryne,” her father had called for a drink and to try to persuade her to stay.  
“Mother has made it impossible,” she handed him his whisky, “she has turned against Aurelie ever since it became known by the Heronleas that she existed. I left Paris because life there had become painful, the life I had was miserable, there was no love between me and her father, not anymore. He had become controlling and jealous and I was afraid for both our lives. You could say I ran away, and I suppose I did, and you probably think I am running away again, but me being here is not good for your relationship with mother. You argue over me, and I don’t want that. You will both be happier without me, and I will be happier back home.”  
“I shall miss you, dear child,” he swirled his drink round in his glass, “maybe you are right and things will settle down. She was so happy when you wrote to say you were coming home, we had both missed you so much, but we have all changed, I suppose, we are not the same as we were, when you went to the front, and we are both so proud of what you did, don’t let her tell you otherwise. We all make mistakes, Phryne, we have to make the best of them and you have. Aurelie may have been a mistake but she is a lovely one. Hold your head high, my darling girl, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” He raised his glass, “to new horizons.”  
She joined him in the toast and as he left they hugged, a peace had settled over them while she had been there, she hoped it was a lasting one.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: It was known that Edward, Prince of Wales, later Edward VIII, was a racist and believed whites were inherently superior. His comment in this about Aboriginals is a near quote.


	5. Home at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rather light, domestic chapter in which Phryne and her little family sail over to Australia and meet a few characters that may or may not return later in the story.

Before this chapter gets under way can I just thank all those of you that have read and reviewed this story so far. I can’t believe how quickly you pick it up each time and I am so thankful to all of you for your kind and encouraging words. Stay safe. X  
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They spent a week in London finalising arrangements to leave for Australia. Phryne booked a large suite for herself and Aurelie, and a separate room for Mary next to them on the liner. All Aurelie’s toys had been packed up and sent on in advance to the port, except for a teddy bear and the doll Phryne had bought her for Christmas. They were her favourite things and lived on her bed. Phryne arranged for her money to be wired through to a bank in Melbourne and they went shopping for clothes. As it would be Spring when they arrived Aurelie would wear her summer dresses with cardigans and light coats and Phryne found someone who could design and make her trouser and blouse outfits, and she made sure that Mary had suitable clothes for her new role. She was told she no longer needed to wear a uniform but she chose quiet dresses and a new coat and hat, favouring greys and blues.  
Phryne had a last night out at a jazz club with the newly engaged Charlie and Evadne and they arranged to have tea the following day with Aurelie in attendance.  
“We’ll come and see you off, old thing,” Charlie smiled, “I have a lot to be grateful to you, I’d never have met Evadne if we hadn’t become friends.”  
“Well, if you ever get the chance, look me up in Melbourne,” She laughed, “I’ll write when we are settled.”  
“If you don’t, I shall track you down,” he hugged her, “after all, you won’t be hiding will you.”  
“Only in plain sight,” she agreed. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss your wedding,” she added, “why don’t you put Melbourne on your honeymoon trip.”  
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Evadne looked across at Charlie, “why not?”  
“Indeed, darling,” he nodded, “I think that could be achieved.”  
“Excellent, we can compare the jazz clubs there.”

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Henry had decided he would see his daughter and granddaughter off on their journey and stood with Charlie on the docks.  
“Keep safe, Phryne,” he hugged her, “I shall miss you terribly.”  
“We’ll be fine, father,” she smiled, “I shall let you know where I am living once I have found a house.”  
He bent down to Aurelie and lifted her up, “Now, I am trusting you to make sure your maman stays out of trouble, sweet child,” he smiled and kissed her cheek, “have fun, be good and live well.”  
“I will, Grandpapa,” she hugged him tight, “I’ll miss you.”  
“I’ll miss you, Aurelie,” he touched the end of her nose, “but you can write to me, or send messages in Maman’s letters. I should like to hear what you are doing.”  
“Ok,” she smiled, “I’ll send you pictures.”  
“That would be lovely.”

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“Come on, Lord Fisher,” Charlie touched his shoulder, “let’s go and have lunch, Evadne and I would like you to join us.”  
“Generous of you, Charlie,” Henry smiled, his eyes full of tears as he lost sight of Phryne and Aurelie standing on the ship, “let’s drink to her, shall we?”  
“I think that’s a perfect idea,” Evadne linked arms with the gentlemen, “she’ll be fine, from what I hear, Phryne always is.”

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“Come on,” Phryne took Aurelie’s hand, “let’s go and find our berths, shall we? We need to unpack and then explore the ship.”

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Their suite was more like a small apartment. A large bedroom for Phryne, with a double bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, as well as a vanity unit where she could sit and apply her make-up. There was a separate room, with two beds, for Aurelie with all she would need to keep her clothes tidy and they had a small bathroom and parlour. Mary was in a room accessed through a door by Aurelie’s bedroom; a single bed, vanity unit and wardrobe, an upholstered bench seat completed the furnishings and she declared it quite comfortable and much more than she expected.  
“We shall be much like we were in the Dower,” Phryne set her make-up and hairbrush on the vanity, “there may be times when I arrange for you and Aurelie to dine in here if I am going to the main dining saloon, I fully expect to be invited to dine at the Captain’s table at some point in the journey and dinners there will be too late for a little girl.”  
She stroked Aurelie’s hair, “We shall find things for you to do, cherie, perhaps other children for you to play with and games on deck.”  
“I’m sure we will by fine, Miss,” Mary smiled, “and there is a schoolroom on the ship, for the children. I wondered if I might take Miss Aurelie there, to see if she can start some lessons. I could stay and perhaps help?”  
“I think that’s an excellent idea, Mary, as Aurelie would have started school in the village by the time we dock. She should be able to keep up when she starts school in Melbourne.”  
And so their journey began.

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At first Phryne found the life on the liner slightly dull. During the day when Aurelie was in the schoolroom she found herself sitting on a lounger reading or making plans for their new life in Melbourne. She didn’t want to sit at home and ‘knit’, and afternoon teas and morning coffees with other wealthy persons were not on her agenda. It would be nice once in a while but not day after day. She wondered if she could find something useful to do, at least some of the time. Aurelie would start school in January so she would have plenty of time on her hands, she thought. And there was the household – she employed Mary as a nursery maid so she would need someone to cook and clean for her, someone to greet guests but she didn’t want a full complement of servants. Perhaps a butler and housekeeper. She put that on her list, there would be an agency that would deal with that, she was sure. And then where to live; certainly not Collingwood; one of the nicer areas of Melbourne, there was Richmond, Kensington and St Kilda that she could remember as being rather pleasant. The nicest thing about St Kilda was that there was Luna Park that she would no longer have to sneak into, and it was only a short walk to the shore if she chose wisely. St Kilda went to the top of her list. Perhaps she could telegram Mac and ask her to get some house details for her.  
She supposed she would have to get in touch with her aunt, her mother’s sister; Mrs Prudence Stanley, stalwart of many a board, mainstay of Melbourne Society, and, if she remembered correctly, Aunt P had stables. If she was amenable to the suggestion perhaps Aurelie could keep a pony there. That’s if Aunt Prudence didn’t shun her like her mother had done. If she did, well fine, she would sort out something else, but she was rather fond of the old battle-axe, she had been a dear when she and Janey were growing up, and it would be lovely to see Arthur again.

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As she had said to Mary, she dined in the main dining saloon some evenings, and as there was dancing she went dancing, usually finding a willing dance partner and very occasionally a young man who was willing to entertain her in bed. It had to his bed, it would not do for Aurelie to wake and find her mother in bed with a stranger, especially as they wouldn’t be sleeping.   
As they were to stop in Port Said she thought she would take Aurelie for a walk on dry land, though it wasn’t a place that would have much for a child to see. Still it would be educational, maybe, and a relief for her. She hadn’t bargained on ship-board life being quite so stifling. 

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She took to people watching, observing her shipmates.  
There was the harassed mother with her brood of three, though it seemed like many more as she hurried them around the decks from activity to activity, the society matron with the loud voice who wore extravagant flowing robes and big ostentatious jewellery that Phryne was sure was paste and who chastised small children and nervous stewards, the tall limping business man who glared at other younger more handsome men who may cast a glance at his blonde child bride, the young couples arm in arm chatting quietly and smiling at others … as she would observe all human life was there. There were less well-off persons that she saw on deck but not in the first class dining saloon, the musicians from the orchestra in rare free time sitting drinking tea and smoking, or reading a book taken from the small but well stocked library, women of all ages knitting or sewing, one poor mother seemed to be constantly mending her child’s torn clothing, there was a little boy, probably about seven or eight years old, who seemed to be ducking a head slap from his father at least once a day, Phryne felt rather sorry for him as he didn’t seem to be doing anything he shouldn’t do, she gave him a small smile whenever he passed which seemed to cheer him.  
Suddenly there was a scream from one of the first-class cabins further along the deck. Everyone stopped and turned, if they had been in an enclosed space there would have been a deafening silence, as it was all that could be heard was the hum of the engine and the sea against the sides of the ship. Phryne stood up looked towards the sound. She thought she recognised the voice, that of the society matron, only she would have a voice that would carry that far, even outdoing the large soprano with the heavy jaw that frequently murdered Puccini and Verdi at the twice weekly concert. The shouts continued, ‘thief!’ and ‘larcenist!’ were about the only discernible words and suddenly a small steward came hurtling onto the deck, covering his head and tripping over to land at Phryne’s feet. She reached down and hauled him up, gently, “What’s happened?” her voice was soft, her manner calm – innocent until proven guilty was her belief.  
“Some jewellery has gone missing,” he gasped and swallowed, “I didn’t do it, I swear I didn’t. Why would I want that gaudy stuff …?”  
“Hm, wrong place at the wrong time?” she held him next to her, waiting for the woman to arrive, “don’t run, it makes you look guilty.”  
“She hit me, with her cane,” he rubbed the side of his head that Phryne could now see bore the evidence, a cut and blood trickling down his cheek.  
“Don’t,” she pulled his hand away, “that can be seen to by the ship’s doctor, it will be fine.”  
“Miss, honestly,” he continued still panicked, “I was just passing her door … I don’t go in there if I can help it, just to take in a tray perhaps, nothing else …”  
“Calm yourself,” she patted his arm, “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”  
The society matron finally appeared with the Captain in tow, looking suitable harassed, Phryne supposed she had given the poor man a hard time.  
“That’s the one!” she pointed her finger accusingly, Phryne wondered if she had volume control, “search him!”  
“Miss Fisher,” the Captain smiled cautiously, “do you know anything, I see Freddie is here with you?”  
“Only what Freddie has told me, Captain,” she bestowed one of her brilliant smiles that filled him with confidence for some obscure reason, “that some jewellery has been taken and this lady has accused him. He says he didn’t do it.”  
“Well he would, wouldn’t he!” the woman lifted her shoulders and clasped her hands under her ample bosom.  
“Well, perhaps we should have a look in your cabin, Mrs …?” Phryne raised an eyebrow, “you may have dropped whatever you’ve misplaced.”  
“I am Isis Baggott,” the woman practically hurled her name at Phryne who took a small step back and blinked. So this was the woman that wrote those awful dramatic romances full of tall, arrogant, yet handsome sheiks and eastern princes and swooning blonde heiresses with only air between their ears. Phryne had read one, an excellent cure for insomnia, but had declined to read any more, she’d much rather a nice juicy murder mystery, a Dorothy L Sayers or Agatha Christie or maybe a DH Laurence just to vary the subject matter, anyway, back to the indignant author.  
“Shall we?” Phryne indicated that the irate writer lead them to her cabin.

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Isis Baggott’s cabin was not as palatial as Phryne’s but it was still beautifully laid out. It was a bedroom, bathroom and small sitting area. There were scarves and wraps in lurid colours draped around; she had obviously added her own touches to it for the duration of the voyage; various creams and lotions sat on the vanity together with a hair brush, wig block and large jewellery box. Isis Baggott quickly threw a scarf over the wig block and glared at Phryne, daring her to comment.  
Phryne ignored her and went to the bedside cabinet and pulled open the drawer.  
“What piece is missing, Mrs Baggott?” she mused, noting the various bits and bobs, pens, a notebook, crumpled up handkerchief and a clamshell case similar to her own. She raised her eyebrows at this, and checked discretely – yes it was a diaphragm, a Dutch cap. Strange for a woman of Isis Baggott’s age to be actively preventing pregnancy, she was surely too old to conceive. That aside there was nothing of interest in the drawers.  
“It’s my sapphire necklace and earrings,” Mrs Baggott slumped onto the bed, rather dramatically, “my dear late husband gave them to me.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed theatrically.  
Phryne turned her back and rolled her eyes at the Captain, he shook his head and shrugged, “Divorced,” he mouthed and held up three fingers.  
Phryne’s eyes widened at the thought that three men had plighted their troth with this woman who even when she was young wouldn’t have been pretty. Her face was long and angular, her nose hooked and her mouth too big. Her eyes might be her redeeming feature being large and a deep blue but her heavy brow and strong eyebrows threatened to overwhelm them. Her hair – her wig Phryne reminded herself - was of a bright orange that even if it had been her own was an unnatural colour.  
With Isis Baggott sitting, or rather reclining on the bed Phryne and the Captain continued their search of the cabin. The Captain left all the ‘female’ things to Phryne admiring her strength and clear thinking. While he searched under the bed and the other furnishings Phryne went into the bathroom. They both knew what they were looking for, Isis regularly wore her garish jewellery at dinner and the sapphires had been on display the previous night. She wondered if Isis had a similar night time routine to herself and went through the imaginary motions of removing her make-up and jewellery, her clothes; Phryne habitually dropped hers into a laundry basket for Mary to sort out the following morning and send to the ship’s laundry; she made a mental note to add a companion or lady’s maid to her list of household staff; there was no laundry basket in Isis’ bedroom but there was a pile of laundry in the corner. Isis’ undergarments were expensive silk, beautifully made and not unlike the style Miss Fisher favoured herself, but with the writer’s physique she imagined there was also a corset to keep everything in place. Phryne shrugged and delicately picked through the pieces, shaking each garment out until she found what she was looking for. An earring landed at her feet, the other was caught in a camisole. The necklace was entwined in the straps of a peach silk slip, Phryne shook her head. Isis had had a few cocktails the previous night and could be politely described as ‘tipsy’, draping herself over a young man, who was clearly embarrassed and trying to rid himself of the ungainly flirt. She hadn’t seen Isis leave the dining saloon but imagined that she had been assisted to her cabin by two noble stewards and guided not unkindly to her bed. The stewards would have made a hasty exit and left her to her hopes and dreams. She would have gone to the bathroom, disrobed carelessly and in her tipsy state must have just dropped everything on the floor, grabbed a nightgown, at least Phryne hoped she had worn some nightwear, and fallen into bed. The wig looked a little untidy as if it hadn’t been tended to before it was placed on her head that morning, so maybe she had slept in it. She untangled the necklace and looked at it. Fairly sure the gems were paste, good quality but paste, she stepped out of the bathroom holding them at arm’s length.   
“Mrs Baggott,” she smiled, “are these what you are looking for?”  
“Oh, my dear girl, how clever of you, where on earth …?” she leapt off the bed, well as much as a woman of her stature could leap.  
“With your clothes, you must have dropped them last night,” Phryne handed them to her.  
“Oh no, I never do that, dear,” she shook her head and pouted, “always put them into the case on the vanity. I know, it was the girl, the one who comes in to clean, she put them there so she could take them when she collected the laundry, Captain, I demand she is put in the brig!”  
“The earrings had caught in your …” Phryne waved her hand down her body, “and the necklace in the straps. Mrs Baggott, we all make mistakes after a couple of cocktails ….”  
“Are you saying I was drunk, Miss?”  
“No, perhaps a little mellow,” Phryne tried to soothe, “those cocktails were rather delicious.”  
“Oh dear,” the poor woman looked down, “did I make a fool of myself?”  
“Not at all,” the Captain stepped in thinking ‘no more than usual’, “you were happy, and I like my passengers to be happy, eh, Miss Fisher?”  
“Absolutely, Captain,” Phryne smiled, “keep serving those cocktails and we shall all have very happy voyage.”  
“Good, well, shall we say that’s the end of the matter, Mrs Baggott?” he turned back to the now calmer woman.  
“Yes, yes of course, silly me,” she tried unsuccessfully to flutter her eyelashes at him.  
“And you can always have your valuables kept in the safe, you know, take out what you want, when you want it,” he advised.  
“Oh, an excellent idea, Captain,” Phryne smiled and turned to Isis, “I do, you know, just for peace of mind.”  
“I’ve never been parted from them, you know,” Mrs Baggott went over to the vanity and stroked the top of the box. She opened the lid and placed the ‘sapphires’ reverently in the tray, closed the lid and tapped it fondly. “I shall think on it, Captain, and Miss Fisher, thank you for your kindness.”

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“I must thank you, Miss Fisher,” the Captain touched her elbow as they left, “Mrs Baggott is … er,” he cleared his throat, not wanting to be ungentlemanly.  
Phryne smiled, “My pleasure, Captain,” she assured him, “I doubt she’ll use the safe, but at least she has been warned. I’m sure she would be horrified to find they are actually paste, good quality but all the same …”  
“Paste!” he gasped, “good lord, well as I’m sure you got my drift, she is thrice divorced and I am pretty sure she is on the hunt for husband number four …”  
Phryne grinned, “she should meet my mother, she’s been trying to marry me off for ages, hence my move to the other side of the world.”  
“And you will not be tied, eh?”  
Phryne threw back her head and roared with laughter, “I have my daughter to consider, a husband for me has to be a father to her, quite a lot to take on.”  
“If she is anything like her mother, then it would be a wonderful proposition … if I were thirty years younger,” he sighed, “now, my dear, dine at my table tonight, please?”  
“I’d be honoured,” she smiled.  
“Excellent, and one day you must introduce me to your daughter.”

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“Maman,” Aurelie eyed her mother’s sea green dinner dress, simply cut in light velvet, sleeveless with a scooped neckline, drop waist with a large self-coloured bow set on her left hip, “you are very clever.”  
She had told her daughter, and Mary, how she had found Mrs Baggott’s jewellery.  
“Why thank you, cherie,” she turned and smiled, “she was simply careless when she took them off last night. Now you know why I insist you put your things away carefully.”  
“Yes, maman,” Aurelie sighed heavily, “I know.”  
Phryne smiled at her and bent down to kiss her cheek, leaving a red lipstick imprint, “Now, you be a good girl for Mary …”  
“She always is, Miss,” Mary paused in hanging one of Aurelie’s dresses.  
“Doesn’t hurt to remind her,” Phryne nodded, “and maybe I shall introduce you to the Captain, one day.”  
“Can I go up to where he drives the ship, maman,” her eyes widened, “please.” She tipped her head and fluttered her eyelashes.  
“You’ll have to ask him,” her mother laughed and thought that if she tipped her head like that and fluttered her eyelashes he’d be putty in her hands.

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There were five other guests at the captain’s table; the businessman with the child bride, a doctor who was taking up a post in a Sydney hospital, and a young couple who were on their honeymoon. Conversation was light, and the child bride was not as vacuous as she looked nor a child, and her husband was not as possessive as she thought, that is his wife didn’t let him get that way. When the doctor asked her to dance and he harrumphed at him, she patted his hand and reminded him that his knee stopped him dancing and she liked dancing.   
“Now, be a dear and order me another negroni,” she laughed.  
Phryne was curious, “So, how did you two meet?”  
“Kate is a surgeon,” he waved a waiter over, “we met when I was in hospital recovering from this blasted shrapnel wound …”  
Phryne winced, he noticed.  
“… know something about them?”  
She just nodded, that was a story for another day, she wanted to hear his story.  
“Anyway, I wasn’t the one with problems,” he confirmed, “the lad in the bed next to me, amputee, one of her patients. She kept checking on him because he seemed to be handling it too well. She’d nod as she passed my bed, then she called a nurse to get me a fresh jug of water when she saw it was empty … the rest is history. I went back into the family steel firm when they discharged me, we made plans to meet for coffee when I went for appointments, then lunch …”  
“I get the picture,” she laughed.  
“Couldn’t believe she’d want anything to do with an old crock like me, but she does … luckiest chap in the world.”  
Phryne raised her glass, “To shrapnel then – without it you two would never have met.”  
He thought it was an odd toast, but strangely appropriate.  
The Captain took Phryne to the dance floor and she found him an accomplished partner. He asked her how she knew about shrapnel, not the kind of thing a lovely young lady should have experience of.  
“I was a nurse, during …” she smiled, not wanting to get into a discussion about the war.  
“Ah, I see,” he nodded wisely.

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Phryne went back to observing her fellow passengers and took advantage of some of the activities with Aurelie. They played deck quoits and watched shipboard cricket, and she decided that the swimming pool was ideal place in which to teach her daughter to swim.  
“It’s alright, ma petite,” Phryne guided Aurelie down into the pool, “I’m here, don’t be frightened.”   
The pool wasn’t busy at that time of day, so there was no danger of them getting bumped and Aurelie being separated from her mother, but all the same she was nervous. There was a shallow enough part for the little girl to put her feet down and stand in the water and they played and splashed to get her used to it. Phryne floated on her back and let Aurelie lie on her, she had to work a little to stay afloat but gradually let her body drop down and held her daughter by the hands and encouraged her to kick her legs.  
“Come on,” she started to pull her through the water, “keep kicking! Excellent!”  
All in all, Phryne felt it was a successful swimming lesson. She herself had learned in the Yarra River, mainly through playing with other children and jumping in in just her underclothing in. Her technique had improved when she attended school in England and she had become a fast swimmer. She passed Aurelie out to Mary who was waiting with towels to wrap them up in and a robe for Phryne to wear over her costume.  
“Shall we try again tomorrow, cherie?” “Phryne removed her swim cap and fluffed her hair, “you’ll soon be swimming by yourself if we do.”  
Aurelie tipped her head and considered the idea. She nodded and let Mary lift her up. As they started to move away from the side of the pool there was a scream and a splash. Phryne turned to see the young boy who ducked the head slaps sinking below the surface and not apparently trying to swim. She dropped her robe and dived in after him, hauled him up to the surface and to the side of the pool. Mary set Aurelie down and helped pull him out. He coughed and spluttered, spewing out a mouthful of water.  
Phryne pulled herself out next to him and rubbed his back, “Alright now, lad,” she soothed, “you’re alright. Deep breaths and slowly. Then we’ll get you back to your mother and dried off, eh?”  
For a few moments he sat there, gasping and gulping and clinging onto Phryne’s hand.  
“What happened?” Mary smoothed his hair out of his eyes.  
“I, er …” he coughed, then realised who his rescuer was, “ducked, one of dad’s …”  
“Oops,” Phryne smiled, “now which cabin, I’m sure your mother will want to see you dried off and changed.”  
“Mother’s dead,” he sniffed, “before we left England. S’ just me n’ father, now.”  
“I’m sorry,” she patted his back, “so why are you travelling?”  
“Mother came from Australia, my grandparents have a sheep ranch, we’re going to live there.”  
An arm pushed between them and the hand grabbed the boy by the shirt front and hauled him up.  
“Stupid boy,” his father grunted, “go and get dried and changed.”  
Phryne stood up; she came up to the man’s chest but that didn’t stop her.  
“Just a minute,” she scowled, “he’s had a bit of a fright …”  
“Keep out of it, Missy, nothing to do with you,” he snarled and dragged his son off along the side of the pool, giving him a head slap for good measure.  
“Well,” Phryne huffed and pulled her robe back on, “there’s gratitude for you.”  
“What’s gratitude, maman?” Aurelie tugged her hand.  
“He didn’t say thank you, after I saved his son from drowning.”  
“Oh,” she hummed, “isn’t that bad manners, maman?”  
“It most certainly is,” Phryne nodded, firmly and decided she would keep an eye out for the boy, “I hope his grandparents are a little more loving.”

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She didn’t see the boy for the next couple of days, but she continued with Aurelie’s swimming lessons.  
“You know, your great aunt has a lovely swimming pool …” she was playing ring a roses with her, getting her used to having her face underwater.  
“Who’s my great aunt, maman?” she spluttered and coughed.  
“She’s grandmama’s sister, her name is Aunt Prudence and she was so kind when I was a child.”  
“But,” Aurelie bit her bottom lip, “grandmama doesn’t like me.”  
“Well, we shall just have to convince Aunt Prudence that you are the perfect great niece,” Phryne kissed her nose, “now, let’s see how good you are at swimming, eh?”

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She didn’t see much of the young lad again until they docked in Colombo. She had decided that they; she, Mary and Aurelie, should take a wander around the town, perhaps do a little shopping while the ship stocked up. They had about a week left of the voyage; she had telegrammed Mac and asked her to look out for houses that may be of interest, told her when she would be arriving and that she would stay at the Windsor until more permanent accommodation could be found. So, for now all she had to do was get there.  
“Father,” she heard his voice behind her, “couldn’t we just go ashore, just for a couple of hours, please?”  
“I told you, we are not setting foot on land until we reach Melbourne, now don’t ask again!”  
“Er,” Phryne turned and smiled, “I’d be happy to have your boy join us, if you want to stay on board.”  
“Pardon?”  
“We haven’t been properly introduced,” she held out her hand, “The Honourable Phryne Fisher …”  
He had no choice but to take her hand and introduce himself, “Bruce Adamson, this is Sammy … Samuel,” he nodded towards his son. “He’d be too much trouble, always is,” he grunted as Sammy looked on hopefully.  
“Oh, I’m sure Samuel will be no trouble,” she tipped her head, “and if he is well, I’ve taken down bigger men – with a well-placed heel.”  
Mr Adamson looked at this slightly built young woman and wondered. It would be nice to have a couple of hours to himself, as she had suggested, just to think in peace. He had no interest in exploring Colombo or anywhere until they got to his parents-in-law, and even then his idea was to leave the boy there and go off and do something he was more suited to. Bruce Adamson was raised in the city and had worked in offices all his adult life so working on a sheep farm wasn’t top of his list of gainful employment. However, Samuel was a lively young boy who needed room to stretch his legs and run around, his late wife had always said so and he had left her to look after their child while he worked to keep them fed and clothed. When she died he had no one to turn to, to care for Samuel, and the idea of taking him to see his grandparents had been theirs, not his, but he thought it was a good one. They weren’t too far outside Melbourne, as far as he knew, so perhaps he could find a job there. He did love his boy, though Phryne would have said he had a funny way of showing it, he just didn’t know what to do with him.  
“Now, you listen boy,” he turned to Samuel and glowered, “you behave yourself for this lady, you understand?”  
Samuel nodded enthusiastically, “Of course, father, I promise.”  
“You better,” he dug his hands into his pockets, “here, a few pennies for you, no sponging off Mrs Fisher.”  
No, father, thank you.”  
Phryne noticed he referred to her as ‘Mrs Fisher’, ah well, perhaps it was because she had a child with her. No need to disabuse him of the idea she was married, though he didn’t mention her husband was not around.

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They had a perfectly lovely time, wandering around the market and trying some different foods from the various vendors. Phryne found some silk she liked – a green and blue shot with a gold sheen – she would have to find a dressmaker, a couturier to make it up it was too nice to be spoiled. Samuel – or Sammy as he preferred to be called – was perfectly well behaved, even happy to hold Aurelie’s hand when Phryne and Mary were occupied with examining produce or ornaments on display on the various stalls. The children were offered treats by the locals, sweets and little keepsakes. At first both were confused as to how to react but Phryne just smiled and nodded and told them to do the same, to accept because it would cause offence to refuse and she bought the local children fruit and snacks from the vendors around. They returned to the ship tired but happy.  
“Thank you, Mrs Fisher,” Sammy grinned, “I have had a lovely day.”  
Mr Adamson was heading their way as he offered his thanks and Phryne noted he was looking his usual stern self. She decided to stop any fuss before it started.  
“Mr Adamson,” she smiled, “here he is.” She pushed Sammy forward, “and may I say what a charming young man he is.”  
“Oh,” Adamson pulled up short, “well … I’m glad he behaved himself.”  
“Indeed he did, so gentle with my daughter despite the age difference, and such lovely manners, I must congratulate you.”  
He harrumphed and tentatively patted his son on the shoulder which made Phryne think he was just a widowed father out of his depth.  
“Mr Adamson,” she touched his arm, “would you do me the honour of dining with me tonight, in my suite, with Sammy and Aurelie,” she wasn’t sure why she made the invitation, she didn’t want to entice him into bed but perhaps he could use a friend.  
He was as blindsided by the invitation as she was when he accepted.

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Phryne ordered an early dinner for five, including Mary in the group, and they changed out of their dusty clothes and bathed.   
They chatted about Australia, Sammy’s grandparents and his late mother.  
“Alice did everything in the house, managed the housekeeper, looked after Sammy,” Mr Adamson hummed, “when she went the housekeeper looked after Sammy until my father in law made the offer to have us move to them. They had so much space for Sammy, he said it would be good for him not to grow up in a city.”  
“And you?” Phryne sipped her wine, “what do you want?”  
“I’m a city boy, Mrs Fisher,” he pushed his plate out of the way of his elbows, “I want what’s best for both of us, but I don’t know how to raise a child.”  
“Hm,” she tipped her head, “well, speaking as a mother, I noticed that babies don’t come with an instruction manual. I’m just making it up as I go.”  
“You seem to be doing alright,” he shrugged, “I mean your daughter is well behaved and seems happy …”  
“Now we just need to get settled; Melbourne is where I was born, I am looking forward to going home.”  
“So you’ve been travelling?”  
She nodded but declined to add anything.  
The evening ended when Aurelie began to yawn and Mary said it was time she went to bed. Bruce stood up and thanked Phryne for a pleasant evening and told Samuel it was also time for them to leave.  
Samuel thanked her for a lovely day, again and as he left the room Phryne spoke quietly to Bruce.  
“Be a little gentler with him Mr Adamson, he has lost his mother and really he is a well brought up little boy you should be proud of.”  
“I’ll try,” he gave a little smile, “and thank you again.”  
She watched him head down the gangway and closed the door. He was just lost, she thought, and still grieving.  
“He’s quite sad, isn’t he, Miss?” Mary hummed as she stacked the plates ready to be removed by the steward.  
“He’s lost his wife, I suspect they were very much in love, in their own way,” Phryne turned and sighed, “but I’m sure with his in-laws help things will turn out quite alright, eventually.”

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The remainder of the voyage was spent with Aurelie’s continued swimming lessons, dining at the Captain’s table, an occasional lunch with Bruce and Sammy and avoiding Isis Baggott who had claimed Phryne as a special friend. She had decided she was going to get the whole of Phryne’s life story out of her before they landed in Melbourne, or in Isis’ case, Sydney, and Phryne had no doubt she would be the subject of one of her truly awful novels. She told her nothing that would help, at least she hoped so but Mrs Baggott knew she was a mother and that there was no husband around. Phryne’s reaction to the literary result would depend on which way she took the story.  
Aurelie did get her visit to the bridge of the ship, Phryne had been right when she mused that the Captain was susceptible to a smile and a fluttering of eyelashes. Mary just muttered she was very much her mother’s daughter.  
And so they drew into Melbourne. Isis Baggott had said a very tearful and enthusiastic goodbye in Sydney, hugging Phryne and sweeping Aurelie into her arms, an act that had the child squeak with surprise and wriggle to be put down, where she ran behind her mother. The writer said her next novel would find its way to Phryne as soon as it was printed, Phryne said a polite ‘thank you’ and vowed to burn it as soon as it landed on her doormat.  
Phryne said good bye to the Adamsons and to the business man and his doctor wife, she thanked the Captain for a pleasant voyage and wished him well for the remainder of his seafaring days then her little family headed down the gangplank.  
Phryne was first, followed by Mary and Aurelie and then a dock worker with their luggage.  
“The Honourable Phryne Fisher!” a voice rang out over the general hubbub, “about time!”  
She was swept up by a red headed woman in masculine dress and hugged tight.  
“See you’re travelling light,” the woman nodded to the trolley of trunks and cases.  
“Hello, Mac,” Phryne grinned.  
Mary and Aurelie watched the greeting and waited to be introduced.  
“Mac, may I introduce my daughter, Aurelie and her nursery maid, Mary,” she smiled indicating the two standing behind her, “ladies this is Dr Macmillan, my oldest and dearest friend.”  
“Pleased to meet you,” Mac grinned, noticing how like Janey, Phryne’s sister, Aurelie was.   
Aurelie smiled her hello and Mary bobbed a little curtsey.  
“So, the Windsor?”  
Phryne hailed a taxi and they piled in. With the luggage strapped to the back of the cab the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher’s new life began. She had no idea what that would entail, but she was determined to make the most of it.

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Sorry for the time it has taken to update, I am not planning this story in detail so it takes time to write and sometimes I hit a brick wall.


	6. Building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may appear to rush through episodes but I am hoping it builds the relationships of the characters. Phryne settles down, gets a car and Mary may be finding love.

Phryne tipped the porters and threw her hat down on the little table. Her suite was large and well appointed, again like a small apartment, so she would be very comfortable until she could find her new home. She let Aurelie go and explore and Mary offered to unpack and put everything where it needed to be while she ordered tea for them all and picked up the few items of post that had been sent on to her.  
“Oh, an invitation,” she pulled out the stiff card from the envelope and read it, “from Lydia Andrews, luncheon, oh and Aunt Prudence,” she pursed her lips at this, it was a little soon to be facing the formidable society doyenne.  
“Shame, I have an urgent bowel operation to perform,” Mac grinned, throwing herself onto a comfortable chair and opening the newspaper.  
Phryne didn’t think it could be that urgent if she had time to read the newspaper, but the invitation was for her, not her and a friend.   
“Will you take Aurelie?”  
“Uhuh,” Phryne shook her head, “don’t want to give the old bird a heart attack, and actually I don’t want to show her off like some prize vegetable.”  
“Oh?”  
“Well, obviously I shall introduce her to Aunt P, but after that we shall see,” Phryne let the bell boy in with the tea, “oh, I shan’t hide her, like mother wanted me to but she has had a lot of changes and I think a quiet time is called for, with Mary most of the time, I suppose.”  
“What are you going to do with yourself, now you are here?” Mac dropped the paper down, “I mean you aren’t one for sitting drinking tea and making polite conversation with the likes of Prudence Stanley and the society matrons.”  
“Well, something about this,” she picked up the paper and folded it to show an article, “Murdoch Foyle is up for parole.”  
“God, how did you see that?” Mac peered at the few inches of text.  
“The name jumped out,” Phryne scowled, “I wonder if I can get him to give up where he buried Janey.”  
“You have a vested interest, maybe you can stop his parole, I bet Mrs Stanley will be on your side,” Mac watched Phryne think over this, “you never did find out, did you?”  
“Father told me all he knew, about how they could only convict him on the attempted kidnap of another girl but they never found out what happened to the others, Janey included,” she turned round to face Mac, “he’s not getting out, Mac, not if I can help it.”  
“Right,” Mac hummed, “Phryne?”  
“Yes,” she sat down and poured tea.   
Mac continued, “Aurelie … I mean you told me all about it, in your letter, it’s just …”  
Phryne just smiled, “Best thing to come out of that part of my life, Mac.”  
“Hm, she’s, well, she has a look …”  
“Of Janey? Yes, father remarked on it, and I suppose she does remind me of her, but it’s ok. She’s a lot like her in some ways, quieter than me, and a lot nicer than me when I was that age.”  
“Oh Phryne,” Mac sighed, “you were always fighting battles, you always stepped in to protect her …”  
“Yes, well I was the eldest, it was my duty.”  
“So,” Mac decided to change the subject, obviously her friend had lost none of her fire and protective nature, “how was the voyage?”  
“Interesting, I watched people, mainly,” Phryne tipped her head, “I met Isis Baggott, you know the writer of those awful romantic novels …”  
“Sheiks, and handsome young princes …?”  
“Those,” Phryne grinned, “she’s … loud, I think best describes her, flirts with the young men but she thinks she’s younger than she is, dresses in bright flowy dresses in outlandish colours and patterns, wears a red wig … she tried to get my life story out of me, so I’m waiting for the next horror story to come out … a widower and his little boy, Sammy, sad story but I think things will go alright for him with some help raising the boy – they’re going to live with his wife’s parents outside the city, and a business man that I thought had a blonde child bride who turned out to be a surgeon – the wife not the business man.”  
“Sounds fun.”  
“I taught Aurelie to swim in the pool, better than jumping in the Yarra in her undies,” they both laughed at that.  
“Well,” Mac got up and dropped the paper on the chair, “I best leave you to ready yourself for your Aunt and Mrs Andrews.”  
“Thanks for meeting us off the ship, Mac,” Phryne hugged her friend again, “as soon as I find a house I shall invite you round for dinner but until then dine with me here sometime, won’t you?”  
“Anytime, old thing, anytime.”

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The luncheon didn’t go according to plan - anybody’s plan. When Phryne arrived a tearful young maid informed her that the gentleman of the house had been found dead in the bathroom. Luncheon was cancelled.  
“Oh, goodness,” Phryne gasped, “is Mrs Stanley still here.”  
The maid showed her into the parlour where she found her aunt fussing, police officers appearing and disappearing and Lydia Andrews wringing her handkerchief and whimpering about how good her husband was and what was she going to do without him?  
“Phryne!” Mrs Stanley stood up, short and stout a bigger personality than her actual stature, “oh darling girl, you should have got a message.”  
“Hello, Aunt P,” Phryne kissed her on each cheek, “how are you?”  
“Oh never mind me,” Mrs Stanley waved her hand, “it’s John, he’s dead.”  
“So the maid said, what happened?”  
“He breakfasted on tea and toast with kumquat marmalade then went to the bathroom, after that … oh Phryne,” she sank into a chair.  
Phryne’s curiosity was peaked, as far as she knew no one ever died from eating kumquat marmalade. She decided to wander, see what she could see. She thought the bathroom would be a good start but as she got up to the turn in the stairs her way was blocked by a young police constable. So young he was barely shaving, she thought.   
“Sorry, Miss,” he put his hand up, “you can’t come up here, it’s a crime scene.”  
“I’m sorry, constable,” she crossed and uncrossed her legs, “but my bladder doesn’t understand that.”  
He was momentarily distracted and before he could look again she was gone and the lock on the bathroom door clicked closed.

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In the bathroom a rather poorly drawn outline of a figure was on the floor other than that there didn’t seem to be anything out of place. She opened cupboards and looked around for places that small insignificant things could be hidden.  
In the cupboard under the vanity she found a box of pink powders; she took one and slipped it into her bag then straightened up to deal with the persistent knocking at the door.  
She smiled at the detective standing there, listening to him tell her she shouldn’t be there. The things she did notice were that he had soft grey eyes and a handsome face, sculpted, slightly angular and his voice, his voice was like melted chocolate dripping over cold ice-cream, smooth, rich and dark. A shiver, invisible to anyone looking at her, ran down her spine.  
“Well,” she hummed, “do you have a card, in case I need to call the police. I am a woman alone, newly arrived in a dangerous town …” except for a maid, a child and an old friend – but she didn’t mention them.  
“I intend to make this city less dangerous, Miss,” he handed her his card. Somehow, he had a dangerous feeling this wasn’t the last time he would see her.  
Somehow, she had a very warm feeling this wasn’t the last time she would see him.  
“I do like a man with a plan,” she looked at the card, “Inspector Jack Robinson.”  
Something about the way she said his name, ‘Jack’, clipped and sharp, made his heart leap – not even his estranged wife had that effect on him.  
As the case moved on, Inspector Robinson found that the Honourable Phryne Fisher was both a pest and an asset, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. She took in the maid after he arrested her and then let her go as being totally innocent of any involvement in the death of John Andrews, she flirted with the dancer, Sasha, apparently, found the link between the Andrews and an illegal abortionist who nearly killed one of the maids, Alice, and tried to relieve Dot, the maid Miss Fisher had taken in, of her ‘little problem’ (that she didn’t have, it was just a ruse to find out who had done the same to Alice who did have a ‘little problem’ courtesy of John Andrews) and in the course of solving the case blew up a Turkish bath in the city. She frustrated him but at the same time strangely filled him with admiration at her deductive capabilities. But, and he told himself this was key to continuing in his role as a respected police officer, she was not a trained detective she was a meddling woman!

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Phryne had found investigating the case, seducing a dancer and getting locked in a sauna exhilarating – not the part in the sauna, she didn’t look her best when the Inspector rescued her- but she still had a cheeky quip for him and so she decided that this would be her occupation, a private investigator. When Inspector Robinson and the young constable, who she learned was called Hugh Collins, called by the hotel to let her know that justice would be done she delighted, or rather Mac did, in informing him of her newest enterprise, the poor man nearly choked on the champagne she had given him.

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The next few weeks were spent gradually bringing a pair of ex-wharfie cab drivers with communist tendencies into her circle, mainly by buying them a brand-new taxi cab and paying them well to run errands for her. She found the house she liked, ‘Wardlow’, on the esplanade in St Kilda. It had just about everything she needed, plenty of bedrooms, a parlour, dining room, kitchen and butler’s pantry. There was a room to the back of the property that she could use as a study and another that could be given over to Aurelie’s toys and books. There were a few alterations she wanted made and so she commissioned an architect to make an en-suite bathroom for herself off her boudoir, a guest bathroom, a family bathroom that Aurelie and Mary would share and one at the back of the house for the staff. So far, that ‘staff’ consisted of only Dot who was now her companion and Mary of course. She had the whole house decorated in cool colours and furnished expensively but with good taste and she included a baby grand piano in the front parlour, even though she didn’t play. Perhaps a guest would, or maybe Aurelie would like to learn – it didn’t matter, she had seen it and loved it and bought it – because she could.  
The next thing she invested in was her own car. The cabbies, Cecil Yates and Albert Johnson were wonderful but they were running their own business so she couldn’t expect them to drive her everywhere, all the time, and anyway, she liked driving. She ordered a Hispano Suiza from a garage in Ballarat and decided she would take the train to collect it, then drive it back. She took Dot with her. Dot had never stepped outside of Melbourne, barely out of the confines of the Andrews’ house and before that her family home so she wasn’t sure why she should be going. Phryne told her she was there to have fun.  
“Now, Mary,” she smiled, “I think it would be nice if you and Aurelie get used to the house and I believe the butler and housekeeper will arrive today. So, I am leaving you to greet him. His name is Mr Butler, how apt,” she clapped her hands with glee, “you can help Aurelie sort out her room and the playroom, and perhaps … well whatever else you think needs doing.”  
For whatever reason had passed through Phryne’s mind she had not introduced Aurelie as her daughter to Dot, perhaps it was because Murdoch Foyle, the man who abducted her sister was due for parole, she would never know, so as far as Dot was concerned Mary was Aurelie’s mother. Phryne had decided that as they would be just the two of them, she would explain a little more on the train. Mary and Dot had fast become friends at the Windsor and Mary had begun to draw the younger, shyer girl out of her shell, that and Phryne’s boundless energy and enthusiasm for life was beginning to rub off on her. But she did need to know, be one of the favoured few that knew the story, or at least the relevant parts. How she would react, as a committed, died in the wool Catholic, Phryne had no idea – but as she said, she must be an improvement on drug dealing rapists.

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The station was busy, two women, one younger than the other were standing waiting to board the train. The older one seemed to be impatient with the train and with the younger woman, who Phryne deduced was her daughter. The daughter didn’t seem to be able to do anything right – she knew that feeling well. Out of the corner of her eye, Phryne noticed a young girl, about ten, maybe twelve years old. Her hair was untidy fair plaits that had come undone, her clothes were little more than rags that she remembered well. Phryne decided to keep a tight hold on her handbag.  
They showed their tickets and were escorted to their compartment where they stowed their two small suitcases and settled down to watch the countryside pass by. Dot took out her knitting and Phryne opened her book and for a while they were quiet.  
“So,” Phryne finally broke the silence, “are you quite comfortable, at Wardlow?”  
“Oh, Miss,” Dot gasped, “everything is lovely, my room, my job, and even the investigating …”  
“We haven’t done that much,” Phryne smiled, “but I’m glad you are happy.”  
“I am Miss,” Dot nodded.  
“And Mary and you get on alright?”  
“Mary’s lovely, she’s so kind and practical … Aurelie …”  
“Actually I need to talk to you, about Aurelie,” Phryne thought this was as good a time as any, having rehearsed her little speech a few times.  
“Mary isn’t Aurelie’s mother …”  
“She isn’t?” Dot’s eyes widened.  
“No,” Phryne took a deep breath, “I am. Aurelie was born when I lived in France, the details of which I shan’t bore you with. We had to leave her father and I went to stay with my parents in England for a while. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out too well, mother tried to marry me off to the biggest oaf she could have found, though she didn’t know that at the time, and tried to hide Aurelie because … well …”  
Dot nodded, she understood, at least she thought she did.  
“Anyway, I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone, not Constable Collins …” she noticed Dot turn a shade of pink, “I have noticed, and not the Inspector. There is a man in prison, he’s in prison for abducting and murdering little girls, one of which was my sister. He’s trying to get out on parole and if he finds out Aurelie is mine I am worried …”  
“I won’t tell, Miss, that would be breaking a confidence,” Dot shuffled in her seat, “she’s lovely, though, Aurelie, and so well mannered.”  
“I try,” Phryne accepted the compliment on her child rearing. “One day, when I think it is safe for people to know I shall let slip the secret, until then Mary will carry on as nursery maid and we will keep her safe.”  
“Does Mrs Stanley know?” Dot thought it would be odd if Miss Fisher hadn’t explained to her aunt the circumstances of Aurelie’s birth.  
Phryne smiled and thought back to the day she had introduced Prudence Stanley to her great-niece.

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It was after the Andrews’ case.   
Phryne had decided she should meet her aunt outside the confines of a murder case and at her own home. Mrs Stanley’s residence was surrounded by extensive gardens that they could take tea in, perhaps, a swimming pool that she hoped Aurelie could make use of, just as she and Janey had, stables where she could keep a pony and the house was large and airy. She asked Cec and Bert if they would drive her, Mary and Aurelie over and paid them handsomely to wait for her, just in case it went awry.  
“Phryne, darling, how lovely,” Mrs Stanley greeted them at the door, “I do wish our first meeting after so long had been under more pleasant circumstances.”  
“So do I, Aunt P,” Phryne grinned and bent to kiss her cheek, “I have brought two people that I want you to know, part of my family.”  
“Your mother didn’t say anything,” Prudence pursed her lips as she gazed at Mary and Aurelie. Mary was dressed conservatively in a blue-grey dress and matching coat. She wore a little cloche hat with a white daisy like flower on the left. Next to her stood a sweet little girl and Prudence instantly saw the likeness to her late niece. Aurelie was wearing a red coat (red was her favourite colour and Phryne indulged her in this) that fitted to the waist and flared softly to her knees. She wore her favourite red hat with the self-coloured flower, white socks and red mary-jane shoes.  
“No, she wouldn’t,” Phryne murmured, “shall we go inside?”  
“We shall have tea on the rear terrace and you can tell me everything,” Prudence nodded, “come along.”  
The rear terrace looked out over the loveliest gardens that took Phryne back to those halcyon days of her childhood, the times they were allowed to go and play with their Cousin Arthur and swim in the clean water of the pool rather than the water of the Yarra river. Mary helped Aurelie out of her coat and lifted her to sit on a chair next to her mother. Knowing what Phryne was going to tell her aunt she discreetly sat aside ready to take Aurelie out of earshot if necessary.  
“So, Aunt Prudence, I should like to introduce you to your great-niece Aurelie,” Phryne reached for the child’s hand. “Aurelie, this is your great-aunt Prudence, say your hellos.”  
Aurelie regarded this small but formidable woman sitting opposite them, tipped her head to one side and slipped off her seat.  
“Bonjour, great-aunt Prudence,” she dipped a little curtsey, “it is so very nice to meet you.” She held out her little hand and waited. Phryne thought that if this didn’t melt her then Prudence Stanley had the coldest, hardest heart she had ever encountered. Phryne had not prompted or coached Aurelie in her greetings, ever, it was just how the little girl had seen adults greet adults and copied it.  
Slowly, Prudence took the little hand and gave it an almost imperceptible shake. She looked into Aurelie’s innocent eyes and smiled, “I am very pleased to meet you, too, Aurelie.”  
Phryne crossed her finger and hoped this was a good sign, and not the false start she had had with her mother.  
“Perhaps you and Mary would like to have a walk in the gardens, cherie, while I talk to Aunt Prudence.”  
Mary stood up and held her hand out to Aurelie.  
“When you have finished your walk there shall be milk and biscuits for you, Aurelie,” Prudence smiled and watched them head off under the rose arch. She turned to Phryne, “so, Phryne …”  
And so Phryne told her the whole story, even parts she hadn’t told her parents and Prudence sat and listened, occasionally pursing her lips and huffing at her sister’s behaviour.  
“I know,” Phryne finished, “I could have left her at the orphanage, or on the steps of a church, but when they placed her in my arms I couldn’t let go.”  
“I understand, dear, really I do,” Prudence hummed, “they tried to get me to leave Arthur in a hospital, when they realised he wasn’t quite right, so I know what you must have gone through, and when your mother started as she did with me …”  
“Mother tried to get you to leave Arthur?” Phryne squeaked, “but she actively encouraged me and Janey to come and play with him.”  
“Yes, well …” Prudence raised her shoulders.  
“Aunt Prudence,” Phryne settled back in her chair, “I don’t want it advertised that Aurelie is mine, most people think Mary is her mother and I am happy to keep it that way for now. Murdoch Foyle is trying to get out on parole and I don’t want him to know about her.”  
“What if he does get out, it wasn’t a life sentence, was it?”  
“I plan to see he dies in prison, Aunt Prudence, not just for Janey but for all the other little girls that went missing at the time. After that I will let Aurelie’s true identity leak out.”  
“Well, if you ever need a place for her to stay, with Mary, then she is always welcome here. Do you want to introduce her to Arthur today?”  
“Only if you think we should,” Phryne smiled, “she does know he is here, and that he is a big little boy, that was the easiest way to describe him. How do you think he’ll react, she’s very like Janey.”  
“That’s the first thing I noticed, I knew she was your daughter when you arrived,” Prudence smiled, “she would never pass for Mary’s child not by family, anyway. I think perhaps I shall tell him that there is a little girl, Phryne’s little girl, that would like to come and play with him, that her name is Aurelie and we can only hope that he doesn’t think she is Janey.”  
Arthur was delighted to see his cousin after so long. They hugged and she passed him a bag of gobstoppers, he had a sweet tooth that Prudence rarely indulged him in. Phryne lifted Aurelie onto her hip, though she was getting a little bit big for this now, and introduced her to Arthur. She was careful to explain that Aurelie was much younger than he was and much smaller so he must be kind. Prudence sent one of her servants to his room to bring down a large model carousel that the two children could play with while they had tea and talked about Phryne’s new venture as a private detective.  
“You will be careful, dear, won’t you?” Prudence worried, “you know what kind of people are out there, and it is not just you you have to think about,” she nodded towards the little girl giggling with her second cousin.  
“I carry a gun,” Phryne whispered, “and I have other talents …”  
“She saw off a large bully, Mrs Stanley,” Mary interrupted, “with a well-placed heel.”  
“Oh?” Prudence scowled.  
“Someone mother wanted to marry me off to,” Phryne sighed, “he got a little too physical after dinner as I walked down to the Dower House.”  
Prudence shook her head sadly, Margaret was far too stubborn, and it looked like Phryne had inherited this trait.

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Dot thought that Phryne was handling the situation rather well and she now knew why her mistress had visited the prison. It hadn’t been pleasant, not that Phryne expected anything else.  
Foyle had been brought down to a table in an open space inside the prison where he could be watched as he spoke with his visitor. His hands were chained as were his feet leaving him enough to shuffle along. The warder stood to the side apparently ignoring the conversation, though Phryne had doubted this. Foyle wanted to bargain for his early release, the truth of Janey’s last hours and her burial place for his freedom. It hurt Phryne to deny him this and thus deny her the chance to have Janey buried properly in a place she could mourn her. But she was not going to give him the satisfaction of defeating her, and also the chance to start all over again. She left, putting the ribbon she kept to remind her of her sister back in her purse, and prayed that one day she would find out the truth.

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It was late evening on the train when Phryne noticed something was wrong, a faint sweet odour drifted into her compartment, reminding her of hospitals. She went out into the passage way alongside the other compartments to where the smell was strongest. She knocked on the door, knowing that Mrs Henderson and her daughter were assigned that compartment. There was no answer; she was sure Mrs Henderson was not hard of hearing, she was loud, indignant for the most part, chastised her daughter all the time, told Dot off for staring and glared at a young man and his son as the little boy ran to the viewing deck of the last coach.  
“Mrs Henderson!” she knocked again, harder, “hello!”  
She took out her little gold gun and shot the lock off, slid the door across and found Miss Eunice Henderson lying on the floor, unconscious. The smell was stronger and she recognised it as chloroform. Flinging open the window and patting the young woman’s cheek to wake her she called for Dot to help her.  
“Miss?”  
“Chloroform, Dot,” she gasped, “come on, Miss Henderson,” they hauled her to the seat.  
“Mother?” Eunice looked all around her. “Where is she, she should be here?”  
“Did she say she was going anywhere?” Phryne asked.  
“No, she was getting ready for bed, oh, god …!”  
Phryne stood up and pulled the communication cord, wincing as the wheels screeched to a halt on the rails.

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She supposed, with hindsight, that suggesting she had the ear of Detective Inspector Robinson was probably pushing it a bit far, but … well, it worked in a roundabout way. When they found the body of Mrs Henderson hanging from the water tower due to her dogged determination and insistence that she must be around somewhere, the Inspector had grudgingly agreed that her help was useful. Even more so when the child Phryne had seen at the station was apprehended with a handful of Mrs Henderson’s jewellery and no reason for being there. They were in the middle of discussing an interview he had just completed with one of the passengers.  
“I’ve spoken to Mr Cotton,” Inspector Robinson went on, “he blames her for the death of his wife, during childbirth. Apparently, she sent Mrs Cotton home from the hospital instead of admitting her and she gave birth on the kitchen floor with him having to deliver the baby. His wife bled to death. He didn’t know she would be on the train, he would have taken another if he did.”  
“No, he doesn’t seem as if he would murder her, not now,” she inhaled. “Well, now what?”  
“Their compartment,” he motioned her forward, “how did they get Mrs Henderson out? I think it would take two, to manhandle her up the tower, so who else is on the train that might have a grudge against her.”   
On close examination of the compartment they found a tiny thread caught on the window frame.   
“Hm, dragged through the window then …” the Inspector examined the thread.  
“… dragged off to the water tower.” Phryne finished.  
“Sir ..?” Constable Collins appeared at the door to the compartment, “sir …” he insisted.  
Phryne and the Inspector were staring at each other, an atmosphere charged with electricity and neither heard the younger officer.  
“Sir!” Collins almost shouted.  
Inspector Robinson turned and raised an eyebrow.  
“Sorry, Sir, Miss, but we’ve found the victim’s jewellery,” he cleared his throat, “a girl has them. She’s outside, by the track.”  
Phryne watched him from a distance, obviously the girl was not going to talk to a copper, if it had been her at that age she would have scarpered as soon as she could.  
The Inspector could not entice the child to talk, not to give her name or where she lived and it was then he decided he would have to ask Miss Fisher to intervene. She had a child in her house, he’d seen her though he hadn’t been introduced. He assumed she belonged to the maid she had brought from England, though she didn’t look as if she was related – the colouring was wrong – the maid had dark hair and brown eyes, almost Italian in appearance, the child was fair that much he had seen. Still, it wasn’t something he needed to know, at least he didn’t think so.   
“Hello,” Phryne smiled gently at the sullen child. “I’m Phryne Fisher, what’s your name?”  
The girl looked at the ground.  
“Hm,” Phryne hummed to herself, “you know that policeman is going to charge you with theft, those jewels belong to Mrs Henderson and we have just found her body hanging on the water tower.”  
“I found them” the girl muttered, “on the ground.”  
“I see,” Phryne nodded wisely, “what were you going to do with them?”  
She shrugged, better to keep her mouth shut, if it got out she had blabbed she’d be in big trouble.  
“Ah, you’re not in charge, oh well, I’m not surprised. Anyway,” Phryne sighed, “what is your name? You can tell me that, can’t you?”  
“Jane, my name is Jane.”  
Phryne’s breath hitched, “It’s a lovely name,” she whispered, “I had a sister, once, her name was Jane.”  
Phryne took the jewels and left Jane with Dot in their compartment while she went to talk to the Inspector.  
“I don’t think she has anything to do with the murder, Inspector,” she wrapped the jewels in a handkerchief, “this is a completely different thing. Wouldn’t surprise me if she was stealing for someone else.”  
“We need to find her family,” he sighed.  
“I doubt she has what you, or I, would call family,” Phryne huffed.

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By the time the sun rose Phryne felt there was little more she could do. She had a feeling she had missed something before they got on the train. She managed to sneak a quick radio call from the train to the garage in Ballarat and arranged for her new car to be delivered to her where she was. The first Inspector Robinson knew of her plan was as she roared away shouting about the top speed of the Hispano Suiza and that she was hoping she could get it above eighty-five miles an hour.  
Jack leaned out of the window and gasped.  
“Has Miss Fisher just kidnapped our victim’s daughter and suspect?”  
“Looks that way, sir,” Collins sighed.  
The Inspector pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. So far he had no leads. Mrs Henderson’s murder was pre-planned, of that he was sure, but by who he just couldn’t fathom. Not her daughter, though he was sure she had something to do with it, not Jane, she was an opportunist thief and nobody else on the train had any connection to the woman. Now, though, he had two problems to deal with, the murder and the child. They would head back to City South station and start to look into Mrs Henderson and her daughter, and find out where Miss Fisher had taken them.

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Phryne pulled up outside her new house very pleased with the performance of the car, though she hadn’t quite topped the supposed top speed on the way. A tall, smartly dressed man approached with a smile. He was probably in his fifties and she decided he had to be Mr Butler. She introduced herself with a laugh and apologised for unexpected guests, told him to watch out for Jane and the family silver and suggested she needed delousing. As she headed into the house she also asked him to be mindful of her luggage as her pistol was in there somewhere and it was, she thought, still loaded. He smiled and called back that he appreciated the warning.  
Cec and Bert looked on from the first floor balcony and exchanged little smiles.  
As Mr Butler began to unload the car he hummed to himself. He had been led to believe that he would be working for a single woman, a spinster, which to him meant someone in the twilight of their years, when in fact this woman was young, had life radiating out of her, life and love, joy and a sense of humour – this was not going to be the position he expected, but he was looking forward to it. He had already met Mary and Aurelie and over the couple of days he had been getting used to the house, it’s layout and the two cabbies that seemed to hang around rather a lot, he had begun to feel useful again. Tobias Butler liked to be useful and he was the soul of discretion.

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Eunice Henderson felt her life had become rather more complicated than it should have been. She had a beau but her mother didn’t approve. He was a medical student and his friend (her cousin Lindsay) was a law student and she had no doubt that they got up to hi jinks at the university but didn’t think it was anything to worry about. She knew when she and Alistair married they wouldn’t be well off, at first, but as his doctoring took off he would soon be able to keep her comfortably and that was all she wanted. She had no idea how badly in debt he was, or that he was failing his exams at an alarming rate or that he and his friend swapped places when one of the other got into trouble with the law for drinking or gambling. They called round to see her after she called them and tried to ingratiate themselves with Miss Fisher. Lindsay tried to ingratiate himself with Phryne but she told him she didn’t allow herself to be ‘lustfully compromised’ during her investigations. He was a little too young for her, she thought, and also she didn’t want to tutor him in the ways of a lover. When they had come to see Eunice, she had noticed that he had a bandage on his hand which he told her was to cover up blisters acquired rowing in the university team. She wasn’t so sure. Something told her, something in the back of her mind niggled that they had something to do with Mrs Henderson’s murder. She was right. They were both desperate for money and with Mrs Henderson gone they would be able to get their hands on her money through Eunice. In the ensuing scuffle at the boat shed it all came out, and that Alistair had failed all his medical exams and was on the verge of being thrown out of the faculty. Eunice was devastated, she had been lied to, used and her mother had been murdered. The old woman may have been difficult but she was her mother and didn’t deserve such an end to her life.  
Meanwhile the Inspector had spoken to Family Welfare and arranged a fostering order for Jane. While Phryne had not envisaged adding to her family in any way, she felt this was probably for the best. They had had an evening visitor, a woman claiming to be Jane’s aunt. Phryne wasn’t convinced and when Jane was brought down to see Miss Gay she tried to hide from her and begged Miss Fisher not to send her back. Mr Butler escorted the woman out, but not before she handed Miss Fisher a card with her address on and said she would be back.  
“Hm,” she gazed at the card and told Jane to go back to bed, she wasn’t going anywhere. “Mr Butler are Cec and Bert around?”  
“In the kitchen, Miss,” he nodded, turning the key in the front door.  
“Right, I have a job for them,” she smiled, she didn’t think they’d be too happy about it but it had to be done.

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She was right, Bert was sent to take rooms with Miss Gay. The place was tumbledown, not too clean and Bert had his standards. There was a young girl, Ruth, there, sweeping the dust from one pile into another, and a man, shabby, losing his hair, grubby shirt and waistcoat. He said he was The Great Hypno, at which Bert headed for the door and flung his suitcase back in the car. He’d had a bad experience with a hypnotist once.  
However, the job had to be done and he found out enough to confirm Phryne’s suspicions that the girls were being used to pick pockets for him. The Great Hypno decided to see for himself where Jane had gone, reckoning he could hypnotise Miss Fisher and have her hand Jane over. He took Ruth with him to see if she could find Jane and do a little light thieving while they were there.  
Phryne was more hospitable than he could have hoped for. She invited him into her parlour despite the dirty clothes and unfortunate odour and reclined on her new couch ready for him to do his thing, while Dot took the girls upstairs. She was supposed to keep them in Phryne’s bedroom but they tricked her and locked her in instead.   
The Great Hypno either wasn’t so great or she was not susceptible to hypnosis, either way, it didn’t work. He began to get threatening, attempting to attack her but … and here she found out just how useful Mr Butler could be … Mr Butler snuck up behind him and grabbed him, holding one arm behind his back and exerting enough pressure on the side of his head that one more tiny push would snap his neck.  
“AIF Second Division, Miss,” he smiled.  
“Thank you, Mr Butler,” she smoothed down her dress and straightened her shoulders. “Well, I should imagine City South will have room for him and questions to ask about using children …”  
“Quite Miss,” he nodded.  
“Girls?” Phryne turned to Ruth and Jane, “where’s Dot?”  
“Er, in your bedroom,” Jane looked down.  
“Well, go and let her out,” Phryne laughed, knowing they were just worried for her safety.

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Within days, Ruth’s grandmother had been found and she was returned to a safe haven which left Jane. That was when the Inspector spoke to Family Welfare, though how he got them to agree that a single woman was foster mother material Phryne would forever wonder. That said, he called one evening to tell her she was now a foster parent and she invited him in for a nightcap.  
“I don’t see why you think I am parent material,” she sipped her cocktail and looked into his eyes, damn the man for being married albeit separated.  
“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “you seem to be doing remarkably well with the little girl you refuse to tell people is your daughter.”  
Phryne coughed and he handed her a handkerchief to wipe the little bit of negroni that escaped her red lips.  
“I’m a detective, Miss Fisher,” he smiled, “but I shan’t tell anyone.”  
“Inspector …”  
“She can’t be Mary’s daughter, the colouring’s all wrong, and she has your eyes, Mary’s are brown, yours are green, like …” he suddenly realised he didn’t know the child’s name.  
“Aurelie,” Phryne supplied quietly, “and yes, she is mine, the story is for another time.”  
“Perhaps we can swap, one day,” he said gently.  
“Do you…?”  
“We were never blessed,” he hummed.  
She raised her glass in a silent toast to secrets and stories. “Inspector.”  
“You may as well call me Jack,” he smiled, “everybody else does.”  
“And you may call me Phryne, although hardly anyone does.”  
As she saw him out, she asked him to keep Aurelie’s parentage close to his chest.  
“It’s not my story to tell, Miss Fisher,” he placed his hat on his head and sauntered down the path.  
‘Curious,’ he thought, ‘why would she hide her daughter who she plainly loves?’  
He would get the answers one day, not that it was anything to do with him, but as she had been to see Murdoch Foyle he might look into that. It was connected, he was sure.

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For the first time since leaving René Phryne felt almost settled. Jane was enrolled at Warley Grammar due to Aunt Prudence’s connections; she proved an able student, quick witted and quick to learn. She could get into trouble but that was usually for sticking up for a less confident friend and Phryne silently applauded her for that.  
Aurelie loved her new bedroom and the small garden. She regarded Mr Butler as a surrogate grandfather and he spoilt her with culinary treats that a five year old would like: pieces of chocolate in her morning pancakes, tasting biscuits and cake batter before it was baked … she didn’t mind that her mother was busy with her detecting because Mary told her that was what she did now.  
“It’s her job, Aurelie,” she told her, “to help Inspector Robinson and Miss Williams helps Constable Collins – now shall we go for a walk in the Botanic Gardens?”  
“Yes please, do you think we’ll see Sammy today?”  
Mary coughed and reddened a little.  
As she found places to take the little girl the Botanic Gardens had become a favourite after they had spotted Sammy Adamson and his father. Mr Adamson had found a position in one of the shipping offices, managing the cargo that arrived and had set himself up in a small cottage that was just enough for himself and Sammy at the weekends. They had come to talking as the children played – Sammy stayed with his grandparents during the week and came to his father at the weekends.  
“You see,” he hummed, “I thought about what your mistress said, about Sammy, and once he got settled at the farm and I found the cottage I saw she was right. This is the new start we both needed. I have to find a school for Sammy, I think half way between me and the farm. Ultimately, I think I should like Sammy to stay with me, all the time.”  
“And is Sammy happy with this arrangement?” she asked.  
“So far, though he doesn’t like going back to the farm,” he sighed, “he gets on fine with his grandparents and they are good with him. His grandmother spoils him, though, and I don’t want him to grow up thinking he can get someone else to pick up after him …”  
“Miss Aurelie is expected to pick up her toys and books,” Mary smiled, “put away things when she has finished with them. Miss Phryne says that means she has only herself to blame if she loses something.”  
“Good, she seemed an independent sort, your Mrs Fisher.”  
“She’s a lady detective now, helping the police,” Mary smiled.  
“I thought I saw something in the paper,” he hummed, “dangerous work.”  
“Indeed, but believe me when I say, she can take care of herself,” Mary laughed.  
“Look, I say, Miss Mary,” Adamson went a little pink, “do you have a day off, y’know, maybe a Sunday or …”  
“I don’t have a regular day off,” she shook her head, “Miss Phryne could be called out at any time, so if she is free she takes Miss Aurelie and I am free to do what I want, why?” as if she didn’t know.  
“I wondered if you would care to take lunch with me, one day, or maybe …” he cleared his throat, “dinner?”  
“Oh, er,” she mused, it wasn’t easy to schedule a lunch or dinner, though dinner would be easier and she told him this, with her customary shyness.  
“I’m sure Mr Butler would be happy to see that Aurelie is safe,” she considered this, effectively arranging for Mr Butler to babysit without asking him. “I think I’d like that, Mr Adamson, very much.”  
“If I am to take you to dinner, Miss Mary would you call me Bruce?”  
“If you like,” she nodded, “Bruce.”  
She noticed his shoulders relax and surmised he must have been building up to this. She’d never been courted, had a boy, or man, pay her any attention. She’d gone straight from home at the age of fourteen into service with the Baron and Baroness and at the tender age of nineteen had never been kissed – such things were not for the likes of lady’s maids and nursery maids.  
Bruce Adamson felt better about this, now. He’d come to appreciate that the young lady would spend time with himself and his son in the gardens when he was sure she could find something much more interesting to do. He liked her, he liked her sweet ways with the children, her unaffected smile and shyness and how easily she seemed to have slipped into her new life in Melbourne. Whether dinners would lead to something else he didn’t know, but whatever happened he was glad he had met her, he could see a better life get even brighter.

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“Is it alright, Miss?” Mary stood in the parlour asking permission to have the evening off and go out to dinner with Bruce. “We see him and young Sammy often, in the gardens.”  
“So, my daughter is chaperoning you, is she?” Phryne smiled cheekily.  
Mary blushed.  
“I don’t see why not, Mary, you deserve some treats, and I know Mr Adamson is not an axe wielding murderer.” Phryne considered whether or not she should give Mary advice on dating, but as she didn’t seem to have much success in this perhaps not. She only took men to bed for her own pleasure and they had left before anyone was up and about in the house each morning. Most of them were just passing ships in the night, a fling, some were good lovers others took their own pleasure without thought of hers. She rarely, if ever, saw any of them again and that suited her just fine. So what if her nursery maid was finding love, her deeply Catholic companion was fighting through the idea that the young man she liked rather more than a friend, was a protestant and her priest had ordered her not to see him again, she, at least, was not going to have her heart broken, not again.

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Mary settled Aurelie in bed and told her that her mother and Mr Butler were downstairs.  
“I will see you in the morning,” she kissed her forehead, “and perhaps we shall go for a walk and see Sammy in the gardens?”  
“Yes please,” Aurelie yawned.

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Phryne looked up and smiled; Mary was wearing a pretty blue dress with accents of green. It looked like Dot may have done her hair for her, a slightly more complicated knot at the back of her head than she usually wore. She had a light smattering of face powder and a pale pink lipstick – luxuries she would not have had before she worked for Phryne.  
“See that he escorts you home, Mary,” she advised, “please, or at least puts you in a taxi.”  
Mary’s answer was lost in the knock on the front door and Mr Butler announcing the arrival of Mr Adamson. Bruce wasn’t sure if he should have gone to the kitchen door, but it felt it would be polite to at least acknowledge it was Miss Fisher’s house.  
“Mr Adamson,” Phryne nodded.  
“Delighted to see you again, Mrs Fisher,” he bowed slightly, “I hope you don’t mind me asking Miss Mary to dine with me.”  
“Not at all, Mr Adamson,” she smiled slightly, “I don’t want Mary to be cooped up with only a child for company. She is free to spend her time as she sees fit, though bank robbery is not to be encouraged.”  
He laughed and suggested that with a private detective for an employer that might not be in her best interests.  
“Quite, well, enjoy your evening, people,” she saw them out herself and returned to the parlour with her book and a whisky. A quiet evening for Phryne Fisher was unusual.

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Mary enjoyed her evening; they had dined at a small restaurant, conversation centred on how they found their new lives rather than on the children as it usually did. He told her he was quite settled in his little cottage and had a lady come in once a week to clean and see to his laundry. He was able to cook for himself, something he had learned as a young man.  
“Nothing special, you understand, but I shan’t starve,” he laughed.  
“You do seem much happier than when we first met,” she observed, “even from that chance meeting in the gardens.”  
“I have much to be happy about,” he admitted, “Sammy is settled, well as much as he can be between his grandparents and me, I have a job I enjoy with prospects of moving further up, I think.”  
“And you have made new friends?”  
“Some,” he nodded, “mainly through the office, and of course there is you, a friend at least.”  
“I hope so,” she blushed a little.  
“So, you are happy here in Melbourne?”  
“Oh, yes, new friends, Dot, Miss Phryne’s companion, Mr Butler and the cabbies …”  
“Cabbies?” he frowned.  
“Yes, Miss Phryne has them at her beck and call, and they are very trustworthy. She had her own car now, but Cec and Bert will take me and Aurelie around if we need a lift anywhere.”  
Across from them, at a small table almost hidden from view but not out of earshot, two people, a man and woman sat, listening. They were older than both Mary and Bruce; the lady dressed rather nicely but slightly more in the bohemian fashion, the man in trousers, shirt and waistcoat. He wore no tie but instead a dark scarf at the open neck of his shirt. He smoked and she drank, but neither paid much attention to their meals. If Mary and Bruce had noticed them, they would have seen the woman looked faintly nervous, as if she did not enjoy listening in to someone else’s conversation and was not happy with the company.

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The evening ended far too soon for Bruce, he could have sat there for hours listening to Mary’s soft voice and gazing into her pretty brown eyes. Mary found him entertaining company as he told some of the stories of things that went on in his office and some of the cargo they had shipped out and taken in. She especially liked stories of the office cat, a scraggy little thing, apparently, that lived for the scraps of fish and pies the staff threw in her direction.  
“We call her Rags,” he smiled, “Sammy wants one.”  
“And who would look after it?”   
“Quite, probably me, but she would be company in the evenings, I suppose. There is a cat on the farm due to give birth, we may take one, his grandmother says we can.”  
Mary had an idea that Aurelie would be asking for one if Sammy told her, but she didn’t set that seed. She would ask Miss Phryne if it might be an idea for Aurelie to have a pet, teach her responsibility.  
“Now, Miss Mary,” he stood up and held out his hand, “I should escort you home.”  
“I’ve had a lovely evening, Bruce, thank you so much,” she smiled sweetly.  
“My pleasure, I too have enjoyed your company, may I invite you again?”  
“I think I’d like that,” she blushed.

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Bruce took her all the way to the kitchen door and as she turned the key, he took her hand.  
“Mary, would you mind awfully …” he bent his head and kissed her cheek, without waiting for the answer, which was to do the same to him, tiptoeing up and brushing her lips to the line just above the beard he had decided to grow.  
“Until the next time,” he smiled.  
“Aurelie wants to go to the gardens tomorrow …”  
“I expect Sammy will want that too,” he nodded and smiled.

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She leant with her back against the door and giggled in the silence. Oh how glad she was to come to Australia with Miss Phryne.

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The couple in the restaurant had followed at a distance and stood in the shadows watching Bruce and Mary walk up to the door …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thenext chapter is forming but as with this one I am sorry of you have to wait a while.


	7. Half truths and untruths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing Phryne's return to Melbourne and interfering in Jack's cases.

“You know what you have to do,” the man growled in her ear.  
“Why can’t you just leave it?” she hissed back, “you don’t want the painting and you don’t want her, you have me now. She left you two years ago …”  
“She was mine,” he snarled, “mine to do with as I would … I will have both, Vero … now go be nice to Phryne.” He pushed her through the gate at Wardlow and went to hide in the shadows.  
How she wished the couple hadn’t gone to that restaurant, or if they had to did they have to talk about Phryne, dear Phryne and that beautiful child she had. Now René knew where she was and Veronique knew he would hurt her, but what could she do? If she didn’t find a way to get the painting, he would hurt her, and since Pierre had gone, she needed him. She had hoped he would forget about Phryne but because she had left him, snuck out in the dead of night with the baby, he was determined to have her back and punish her. René had a way of controlling any woman he took, possessing them and nobody walked out on him.

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“Madame Sarcelle to see you, Miss,” Mr Butler leant into the parlour.  
“No?” Phryne gasped and jumped up, “Veronique?” she flung her arms round the woman’s neck, “oh my goodness, come in.” She dragged her into the parlour and asked Mr Butler to bring some coffee.  
“What are you doing in Australia?”   
“I came to see you, Phryne,” Veronique Sarcelle smiled, “you take some finding. Pierre is dead, at the station …” her lip trembled. It had been just after Phryne left, she told her, nobody saw anything.  
“Oh, Veronique, I am sorry …” Phryne touched her hand, “come, let me show you …” she dragged her out of the room and up the stairs into her bedroom, “see, it did find me.” She pointed at the nude Pierre had been painting when she first met René.  
Veronique clasped her hands to her chest, “Oh, I am glad it is with you.”  
“But you shall have it,” Phryne smiled, though she would miss the painting.  
“No, I couldn’t,” Veronique shook her head, “it is yours …”  
“I insist, I shall have Mr Butler wrap it for you, then we shall go to lunch …”  
Veronique followed her down the stairs sorry that she was not being entirely truthful with her friend.  
“Where is Aurelie?” She thought it was a safer topic.  
“Out with her nursery maid,” Phryne smiled, “she has grown so much, you won’t recognise her.”  
“She is happy?”  
“Very, we are keeping up her French language skills and she has her own space in the house.”

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As Phryne and Veronique went to Café Anatole for lunch, Inspector Jack Robinson was staring down at the body of a man, a friend of Cec and Bert’s, Miss Fisher’s Red Raggers he had dubbed them due to their communist leanings, and wondering what an old digger had done to warrant being shot in broad daylight.  
Cec and Bert were standing by, Bert wringing the brim of his hat through his fingers. They had spent time with the man, Thommo Birmingham, in Paris after the war but had shipped back home before him. Now they met him at the pub for a pint, sometimes at his digs for a card game but, they assured the Inspector, he did nothing to upset anyone, lived his life quietly, wasn’t married …  
“He was a good bloke,” Bert grunted.  
Bert was by far the more emotional of the two cabbies but the Inspector knew that Cec would support him while they went through this, his own grief would be quieter.  
Jack took down all they knew about Birmingham and sent them off to have a pint, he said they deserved it. Instead they went to Wardlow. Miss Fisher was a private detective, and much as they knew the Inspector would do his best to bring the murderer to justice, they trusted Phryne to do more. She worked just on the edge of the law for the most part.

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In the kitchen, over cups of sweet tea, they explained the job to her and pushed over some cash.  
“We can get more,” Bert sniffed.  
She pushed it back, “No, I don’t want your money, not for this, Bert,” she smiled gently. “Now tell me about the last time you were with Thommo.”  
So they told her about the evening they were at Montparnasse station catching the train to Marseilles to come home.  
“He had a girl so was going to stay, see how it worked out,” Cec added quietly.  
“What else did you see?”  
“Not a lot,” Bert grunted, “we’d had a few. We left him there, on the platform, last we saw of him ‘til he came home. He wrote, though …”  
“Really?”  
“Yeah,” even Bert had thought it odd that a digger would write to other men he had served with, “he didn’t have any family here, see, so I s’ppose that was why.”  
“He wrote he was coming home, about a year ago,” Cec supplied the rest of the story, “he’d been on the station when a bloke ran past him …”  
“What was he doing there?”  
“He got a job there, guard … anyway, this bloke pushed past just after someone had fell onto the tracks, awful mess … some artist, he said …”  
Phryne’s blood ran cold, Veronique had said that Pierre had been killed around that time, at Montparnasse station.  
“Did he know who the artist was?”  
Cec shook his head, “If he did he didn’t say.”  
“Right, boys,” she stood up, “leave it with me. As it happens an old friend of mine, from Paris, is in town, I’ll ask her if she knows anything. Her husband was an artist.”  
“Thanks, Miss,” Cec hauled Bert up, “come on, let’s go.”  
He dragged his friend out of the house and decided to take him home and get him blind drunk.

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Try as she might Veronique couldn’t avoid the questions about Pierre’s death. And she couldn’t hide the fact that she was now involved with René. She insisted he was a good man, he had changed, which she knew was not the truth and a thought snuck into her mind that he had something to do with the digger’s death. Also, his insistence that she get the painting back troubled her. Phryne, armed with little evidence and the newspaper cutting of the incident, headed to City South police station and the Inspector.

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“I know you’re going to tell me it’s circumstantial at best,” she threw her hands in the air having translated the cutting, “but Jack, even though Veronique hasn’t confirmed, won’t confirm, that René is here I know he is, and I think Bert’s friend could identify him as Pierre’s murderer.”  
“Miss Fisher,” he stared at the photograph of Pierre Sarcelle, “why would you think that? You have to give me more than a feeling.”  
She ran her hands through her hair, disturbing the usually neat bob, “Because I know René Dubois, and the painting I have given Veronique is the one he saw me modelling for, the first time he saw me.”  
Pieces fell into place for Jack. He knew she had lived in Paris, and now he had it confirmed that she had modelled for the artists, well that was her past and a girl has to make a living.  
“Pierre and Veronique were very kind to me,” she slumped down into the chair opposite him, “and I don’t think they knew what René would do to me.”  
“You and he ..?”  
She nodded, “He’s Aurelie’s father … worse than my own was. He didn’t want her. He was kind, at first …” she didn’t have to say more. Her past shaped her present, he could see that and while he was jealous of her flings, which as a married man he shouldn’t be, he saw them for what they were – nothing, just a fling.  
“Do you think you are in danger, you and Aurelie?” he frowned, wondering how they could deal with this.  
“Probably not Aurelie, she has no recollection of him, I don’t think, to be honest I hope not.” She pursed her lips and thought. “If … oh, damn,” she snapped, “if he is here then it is unfinished business. If Bert’s friend did see him kill Pierre that is why he has been killed, but I still don’t know why he is here. I mean staying in Paris, the case has been closed, he would not have been recognised … would he?”  
“Let me contact the Paris police,” he thought for a moment, “Pierre’s death was seen as an accident, according to this,” he waved the cutting, “but what if they have opened it up again, this cutting is months old, what if there has been another murder linked to Pierre?”  
“I shall ask Bert if his friend was alone when he was on the station that night, perhaps another digger overstaying, or another traveller … “ she stood up, at last she had something useful to do because up to now she felt she was going nowhere … and she had lost Veronique! She wasn’t at the hotel she had said they were staying at.

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While she knew she ought to be searching for Veronique she needed to speak to Bert first, find out if he knew anything more about his friend’s time in Paris. She slowed the car to a stop near her house. Bert and Cec were weaving slightly unsteadily along the pavement, a bottle of beer each. She barely registered the man across the street, hat brim tipped over his face until he moved his hand. She yelled at them, a shot rang out, a bottle was smashed and the boys ducked, Bert tripped and fell … Phryne leapt out of the car with no thought for her own safety, another shot rang out and the bullet pinged the road close to her car.  
Jack had followed discreetly, knowing she hated the thought of being protected but still concerned for her safety if her ideas about the case had any merit, he stopped his car and ran over to her, pushing her behind a horse trough now filled with flowers. He fired in the direction of the man with the hat but he was too late, he had slipped out of sight down another street.

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Jack left Phryne to be attended to by Dot, her knees were skinned and Dot didn’t think she would be able to repair the stockings. He went into the kitchen to talk to the Raggers, see if they could tell him more about their mate and what he had seen in Montparnasse.  
“Nothin’,” Bert slurred. “Honestly, he said nothing else, ‘cept he pushed past him in a hurry. Thommo got a bruise from the package he was carrying, said it was a bugger ‘cos it took forever to go, from a corner …”  
Jack thought perhaps that it was the painting that Veronique had taken from Phryne but how had Phryne got it.  
“Oh, it was sent to me, by Veronique,” she shrugged, “you don’t think it has anything to do with this, do you?”   
He considered this.  
“I know, he was slighted, anything to get back at me,” she pouted. “I think I’ll ask Mary to take Aurelie to my aunt for a few days …”  
“Might be a good idea, it would be a way to get to you,” he nodded, “do you want me to have one of the constables drive them over?”  
“No, thanks, I’ll send Bert and Cec …”  
“Too drunk to drive, Miss Fisher,” Jack shook his head. “I’ll have Collins drive them over.”  
“It’s very kind of you Jack,” she smiled.  
“Hopefully she will be safe there …”  
“Yes, and perhaps I shall formally introduce you to her, Aurelie does ask who you are, quite often,” she gave a little cheeky smile.  
“And…?”  
“I just tell her I work with you and you are a Police Inspector.”  
“Right,” he hummed.  
“I am always truthful with my daughter, Jack, she has seen quite a lot in her life.”  
“Now that doesn’t surprise me,” he grinned, “and you take care, please, if I find out anything I shall let you know …”  
“That’s awfully decent of you, Jack …”  
“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “if I don’t …” he didn’t want to add she may do something rash, but she understood quite well what he thought.

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Phryne rang the hotel Veronique said she was staying at but again they said they didn’t have a Madame Sarcelle registered. Having reviewed the little evidence they had, she turned to the conversations she had had with her old friend. Pierre had looked after Veronique, and she cooked his meals and did all a wife was expected to do, she had never known anything else so without Pierre she would be lost and without Phryne René would be looking for another punch bag.  
“Veronique said that he was a changed man,” she could hardly bring herself to say his name, “but I doubt that, it takes a lot for a leopard to change his spots and he has to want to, he didn’t want to. He was controlling and always needed to be in the spotlight.”  
“Miss,” Dot looked thoughtful, “if he wants to control your friend, you don’t suppose he has registered them under his name, do you? I mean as Mrs …?”  
“Dubois,” Phryne whispered, shuddering, “I’ll ring the hotel again.”  
The hotel, now armed with a name to answer Miss Fisher’s question confirmed that a Madame Dubois was in residence and as far as they knew she was in her room. Her husband said she had a migraine and was not to be disturbed.

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“René was never that caring,” she slammed her small bag on Jack’s desk, “would you care to join me?”  
Jack raised his eyebrows, Phryne usually went in without backup, this Dubois must had really got her rattled.  
“Are you expecting trouble?” he pushed his chair back and stood up.  
“Maybe I just want you to stop me putting a bullet through his brain, Aurelie needs her mother this side of the bars.” She tossed her head.  
Jack hummed and escorted her out of the station wondering just how badly she had been treated.

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The hotel was small and a little bit seedy, but probably all they could afford, René had mainly lived off her earnings as an artist’s model, his art, he reminded everyone, would be worth a lot – when he was dead! He would not be a wealthy man, and Veronique would bring little to the purse.  
They were directed to the room occupied by Monsieur and Madame Dubois and left to see the occupant.  
Phryne unlocked the door with the key kindly provided by the proprietor and pushed it open, hoping to see Veronique sleeping, or at least lying on the bed. She was not expecting to see her friend bound to a chair and gagged, bruised and battered.  
Gently Phryne removed the gag and Jack untied the rope that held her to the chair.  
“It’s all my fault,” Veronique coughed, “all my fault.”  
Phryne stroked her cheek then asked Jack to help her get her to the bed.  
As she bathed the cuts and sent out for arnica for the bruises, Phryne let Veronique ramble on about how when René found out where she had sent the painting, he demanded she get it back.  
“By then, you had moved here, and he dragged me over the ocean to see you.” Veronique winced as Phryne tenderly applied ointment to her split lip. “He has a buyer – I’m so sorry, Phryne …”  
“Who is the buyer, Madame?” Jack spoke at last.

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Armed with the name of one of Melbourne’s shadier bookies – that was the least offensive of his dealings – Jack and Hugh Collins headed to the pub he was known to work out of.  
Betting this way was illegal, but Jack thought that if he suggested they overlook some of his dealings, the ones that didn’t include deaths, they may be able to arrange a sting.

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“Well, Inspector,” Hector Chambers sat back and blew a cloud of cigar smoke in Jack’s direction. “I don’t know anything about the betting.”  
Jack took the cigar and stubbed it out firmly while nodding to Collins to pull the blackboard menu away from the wall.  
“Nothing to do with me,” Chambers shrugged.  
“Now,” Jack leant on the table, “let me make this clear, Mr Chambers, I could ignore the betting, the roughing up of some of your ‘clients’ in return for a little help in the capture of a murderer – a Frenchman …”  
There was a pause, charged with electricity.  
“He’s on your patch, Chambers …” Jack grunted.  
“Whaddya want?”  
“I want you to ….”  
Jack outlined how he wanted the sting to go. Chambers was to contact Dubois and arrange to meet him at Café Anatole in two days’ time. He would have plain clothes officers in the café and he would be there with his contact. Much as he didn’t want to put her in danger, he knew Phryne was the only one he could trust to identify Dubois, and she wanted to see him caught. It was better, marginally, that she be there with him instead of charging in and putting a bullet between his eyes.

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“Anatole has been apprised of the situation,” Jack held the door of Wardlow open for her, “there are officers in and around the café, Collins is inside, all are in plain clothes and I am informed Chambers has arrived.”  
She looked pale but elegant, all in black, a loose coat and close-fitting hat with rather large feather on the right side, she would not be recognised from that view.  
They took their seats at a window table, Phryne with her back to the street where she could see anyone who entered or left. They placed their order, Jack, for some obscure reason ordered escargot, a decision he was soon to regret, to him they tasted of India rubber and garlic; Phryne’s Salade Nicoise remained untouched, too nervous to eat, Jack didn’t like it.  
“Phryne,” he urged, “change places with me,” he stood up and gently took her arm, encouraging her to sit with her back to the door.  
There was an atmosphere that you could cut with a knife, poor Anatole was having trouble keeping calm and when few people ordered it was worse. Chambers waved him away, his eyes firmly fixed on the door.  
René entered, Chambers waved him over, Phryne’s eyes were so wide with fear, Jack had never seen her so afraid, never seen anyone so afraid. It didn’t matter he had only known her a month or two but this was dread he saw.  
She turned.  
“Phryne,” he whispered, “Phryne, eyes front, Phryne …”  
She couldn’t hear him over the pounding of her heart, he put his hand round her face and drew her into a kiss. It was a distraction technique, enabling him to signal to Hugh that that was the man they were looking for. She was so surprised when his lips collided with hers she instinctively opened her mouth for his tongue and he let temptation overcome him, for just long enough.  
He tasted of garlic and the red wine he had washed the snail down with, but that was ok, she liked garlic and red wine. There was a fuss, a commotion behind her, reluctantly she broke the kiss, she would come back to that in a more intimate setting, she turned and pushed her chair back.  
“Phryne!” Jack stood up, sending his chair into the window, “no!” He grabbed her arm and pushed passed her, which gave her time to lift his revolver from his trouser waistband.   
She stood in front of René, the silence was palpable, she aimed and Jack thought she was going to pull the trigger.  
“Phryne,” Jack grumbled, his voice low and pleading her not to give in to her anger.  
“I’m not afraid of you,” she sobbed, “not anymore.”  
Jack reached round and took the revolver from her shaky grasp which gave René the opportunity to leave, without the painting. Seconds later, even less Jack would muse later, he staggered back, bleeding from a knife wound to the chest. He slid down the door frame a look of surprise on his face. Phryne knelt down in front of him, staring at him as he lay dying, there was nothing anyone could do. As his last breath slipped from him, Jack put his hand gently on her back and looked into her tear-filled eyes.  
“You alright?” he murmured.  
“I am – now,” she looked at him, no man had ever been as kind to her as Inspector Jack Robinson, his wife was a very lucky woman.

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It was Veronique that had held the knife that René ran into, why she was there they had to make up a story for – Anatole said he was trying her out as a sous chef, she had come out of the kitchen to see what the fuss was and René had run blindly into the knife. It barely held water, but Jack decided he could run with it, put it down to an accident and told Veronique that perhaps she should see if Anatole actually needed a sous chef, for a while at least.  
“Leaving the country so soon after the incident,” he told her as they sat in his office, “might look a little suspicious. A dangerous man is off the streets and he isn’t living off the state in prison so …” he decided it was a win-win situation.

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“The Inspector, Miss,” Mr Butler opened the parlour door and Jack stepped in. Under his arm he had a package, rectangular, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.  
“I believe this belongs to you, Miss Fisher,” he set it down on the small table.  
She knelt down and started to unwrap it, a cheeky smile on her face wondering what his reaction would be. She opened the paper and he gulped, it was plainly a young Phryne Fisher – nude – reclining on a couch.  
“You’re blushing, Inspector,” she teased.  
“I’m a grown man, Miss Fisher,” he swallowed, “I’m not likely to blush at the sight of a little bare flesh.”   
He didn’t stay for a drink.

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She collected Aurelie and Mary from Mrs Stanley’s residence the following morning.  
Aurelie was riding a little pony her Great-Aunt had kindly found for her, this one was known as Peaches; a pretty little bay with the perfect temperament for a small child. Prudence’s stable hand, Mr Brown was leading her though he didn’t appear to be enjoying himself, just following orders.  
“Maman!” Aurelie waved, “see, I’m having a lesson again!”  
“So you are, ma petite,” Phryne took the rein off Brown and told him she would take over, now, “and how are you and Peaches today?”  
“Bien, merci,” Aurelie grinned, “will you ride today?”  
“In this dress?” Phryne laughed, “not today, another day perhaps, and I think we shall see if you can manage without the leading rein, eh?”  
“Alright,” Aurelie considered this a good idea, if she was with her maman then nothing would go wrong. “Have you finished your work with the Inspector?”  
“For now,” Phryne led her to the stables, “until the next time he needs my help, or I need his.”  
“So we are going home, to M’sieur Butler?”  
“We are but you can come later in the week to ride, if Aunt Prudence doesn’t mind.”

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While Mary helped Aurelie change out of her riding clothes, Phryne explained to Prudence what the case had been.  
“Oh Phryne …” Mrs Stanley sighed, “you poor dear.”  
“It’s over now, Aunt P,” she smiled, “he won’t come after me again, Aurelie is safe though she doesn’t have a father of any kind, now …”  
“Put it behind you dear, if you can,” Prudence patted her arm, “I don’t think Aurelie will suffer for the lack of a father, she barely knows him.”  
“I’m hoping so,” Phryne was so glad her aunt was more pragmatic about her situation than her mother.  
“Now, she is welcome anytime to ride or swim, she and Arthur have a fine time together with his toys …”  
“Thanks, Aunt P, perhaps you can recommend a school for me to enrol her in, mother was horrified I was thinking of the village school for her; she suggested a governess then boarding school.” Phryne had been meaning to ask but events had overtaken her, and it was getting close to her starting school.  
“I take it you want a day school for her,” Prudence hummed.  
“Please, and a small one.”  
“Of course.”

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As they drove back to Wardlow Phryne noticed an event she did not want to take Aurelie to – the circus was coming to town.


	8. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking us to the end of season one, just about.

“Maman, please,” Aurelie had never begged for anything in her short life but she so wanted to go to the circus with Sammy, “why can’t I go?”  
Much as Phryne hated to see Aurelie cry, and she was sobbing now, she couldn’t explain why she wasn’t allowed to go to the circus. Every time she opened her mouth to begin a solid lump of fear choked her, every time she closed her eyes she saw Janey’s ribbon lying on the ground and Janey nowhere to be seen, how could she explain to a five year old child about a girl she had never met, never heard mention of, a girl who she should have known as Aunt Janey who had been taken from her and murdered. She was too young to know such things happened to children.  
Aurelie stamped her little foot and screamed. “You’re mean! Je te deteste!” she stormed up the stairs and the door to her room slammed – the noise reverberating through the house.  
That cut through Phryne like a knife, she wanted to stamp her foot, scream at the injustice but she was an adult and supposed to be a role model for her child.

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In the kitchen, Mr Butler, Dot and Jane winced at the sound.  
“Why won’t Miss Phryne let Aurelie go to the circus, Dot?” Jane whispered, as if even from there Phryne would hear her.  
“I don’t know,” Dot hissed back and looked at Mr Butler for an answer, but he just shook his head.  
“She has to have a reason,” he leant on the table, “a good one. So, Miss Jane,” he turned to the foster child, “don’t you go sneaking Miss Aurelie out.”  
“I won’t, but I wish I knew what was going on.”

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Phryne headed slowly up the stairs, her heart as heavy as her leaden footsteps. In her room she slipped open the drawer at her bedside and took out the only reminder she had – the ribbon, always somewhere near, always where she could look at it when she needed to. She sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard.  
“Am I wrong, Janey?” she sniffed, “should I let her go, after all he is in prison. I miss you so much, I know you would be so much better at being a mother than I am …” the tears began to flow in earnest now and she didn’t try to stop them. Even though Aurelie had said she hated her she was sure she didn’t mean it, children say that all the time, she did, when she was a child and her parents denied her something, or beat her for some misdemeanour; though there may have been occasions she did mean it, but, for the most part it was what they did she hated.  
She didn’t know how long it was that she sat there crying but her make-up had run, her nose was red and her head ached. She was sure she presented a sorry sight but before she could drag herself into the bathroom to clean her face and reapply her make-up she heard a tentative knock at the door. It had to be Aurelie, she always had a small knock, and before she could ask her to wait a moment the door opened and sure enough Aurelie stood there, bottom lip trembling and her head bowed.  
“Maman,” she whispered, “I’m sorry …” she looked up and saw her Maman had also been crying, Mary had said she had said a hurtful thing and she should apologise when she had calmed down. She didn’t know how hurtful until she saw Phryne’s face and she felt about as bad as a child could. She rushed over and launched herself onto the bed, flung her arms round Phryne’s neck and buried her face in her shoulder.  
“Please don’t cry, Maman,” she sniffed, “I do love you, really …”  
“I know, cherie,” Phryne kissed her curls, “I’m sorry too …” she held her so she could see her face, “… it’s just it’s such a hard story to tell.”  
Aurelie snuggled into Phryne’s side and waited for her mother to find the words. She reached over for her hand and closed her fingers over the crumpled ribbon.  
“Maman?” she held it up, “what a pretty colour.”  
“It was hers, Janey’s,” Phryne whispered, “my sister.”  
“Tell me, Maman …”  
So, Phryne told her, about how she and Janey used to sneak into the circus, under the tent flaps and watch the magic and the animals and the clowns and how one day Janey was taken. How she had never seen her beloved sister again and how much she blamed herself – that she hadn’t kept Janey safe.  
“You see, Aurelie, ma petite, that is why I don’t want you to go to the circus, even though the bad man is in prison …”  
“It’s ok, Maman,” Aurelie kissed her cheek, “Mary says there is a funny movie at the cinema, if I’m a good girl we can go there.”  
“I think that would be the best thing,” Phryne smiled, “one day, perhaps when I’ve stopped being afraid of losing you, we’ll go to the circus, just not this time.”  
Aurelie snuggled close and they sat there for a while, just comfortable and knowing they were loved by each other.

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Phryne was relieved when the circus left the city. It was no longer a missed treat for Aurelie, she had had trips to the cinema and to Luna Park one afternoon and after their little talk it no longer came up in conversation. She had told her household why Aurelie was not allowed to go to the circus and all were very sympathetic, which was quite hard to bear. Too much sympathy can be as bad as none at all, she found.

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“Phrynekins!” the parlour door flew open and there stood Guy. Tall, exquisitely dressed in a Saville Row suit, and beaming with bonhomie.  
“Guy,” she stood up from fastening the laces of Aurelie’s new boots, “what on earth are you doing here?”  
She did like Guy, in a way. He was bright, full of fun, always ready with a supply of hash laced fudged and he partied like there was no tomorrow, but - and it was the one thing that really made her cross with him - he bullied Arthur.  
“I’m here for …” he noticed the little figure standing in the room with them, “what is that?”  
“Don’t be rude, Guy,” Phryne pursed her lips, “let me introduce Miss Aurelie Fisher, my daughter.”  
While Guy stood there, mouth agape like a landed codfish (as Dot would say) she turned to Aurelie and smiled, “cherie, this is my cousin Guy, he’s Arthur’s brother.”  
Aurelie frowned, until Phryne told her just to call him Cousin Guy. So, she offered him her hand and said her usual greeting.  
“Er, yes, pleased y’know,” Guy flustered, “Phryne, I assume mother has told you I am to be married.”  
“And here’s me thinking she was just hoping,” Phryne laughed, indeed her aunt had told her as much but Phryne hadn’t believed it.  
“Having a shindig over at mother’s,” he handed her a card, “you will come, won’t you, fancy dress an’all.”  
Phryne opened the envelope and smiled, she had just two weeks to find a suitable costume for herself and maybe the Inspector, who she had become rather fond of, if he wouldn’t accompany her then she would have to find another ‘plus one’.  
“You can play with Arthur, darling,” she turned to Aurelie, “would you like that?”  
“Oh yes please, Maman, that would be lovely.”  
“Good, now, Guy,” she turned back to her cousin, “we were just about to go for a walk to the foreshore and have an ice cream, care to join us?”  
“Oh, er,” he cleared his throat, “things to do, y’know, Isabella …” he waved vaguely. Phryne wondered if he and his intended would have children, he was a bit of a lounge lizard it was hard to see him as a father.

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Guy pondered Phryne’s choice to keep her child and to openly be seen with her. He spoke to Isabella about Aurelie playing with Arthur over the party weekend.  
“Well,” Isabella could not understand how Prudence had wanted to keep Arthur, he wasn’t right physically and mentally and there were places for people like him. “I suppose it will keep him occupied during the party, out of the way.”  
“Quite, but don’t tell mother,” he nodded.

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It was perhaps just as well Guy didn’t speak to his mother about Aurelie and Arthur; there was much more to deal with when Arthur found the body of Marigold Brown floating in the swimming pool.   
Preparations for the party were underway. Prudence’s staff were busy creating dishes, decorating the house to Guy and Isabella’s requirements so nobody bothered about the younger son shambling around the grounds, and nobody noticed the toffee apple he was chomping down on. He knew he shouldn’t have sweet things, mother didn’t allow it unless he was supervised and the treats were rationed. He was standing by the swimming pool when he heard his mother calling for him. Quickly he hid the apple in the surrounding box hedge and turned to stop her making so much noise, Marigold was sleeping.  
“What are you … oh my goodness!” she clutched the pearls round her neck, “help! Help!” she looked around for someone to drag the girl out of the pool, and for whoever could have done this. Arthur adored Marigold and wouldn’t have hurt her at all, if he lost his temper he took it out on a toy or something that broke, never a person.

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There was a flurry of activity in the grounds, police officers, Inspector Robinson and Miss Fisher … Guy looked out at the fuss and sighed. Isabella shrugged, Marigold was the daughter of a servant and as such surely did not warrant such concern. Sure, she was dead, but … well these things happen.  
“Probably slipped on the side and fell in,” she poured herself a drink, “should be over soon.”  
“Excuse me, Mr Guy,” a maid had entered and waited until they had finished their conversation before alerting them to her presence, “the Inspector would like to speak to you.”  
“Uh? Oh right,” he shoved his hands into his pockets, “probably just procedure,” he followed her into the study.

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“So,” Phryne held up the silk knickers that Marigold had been wearing, “I doubt a groom’s daughter would be able to afford French silk underwear, Jack.”  
“I bow to your judgement, Miss Fisher,” he pinkened slightly, “so where did she get them from?”  
Phryne had a good idea. Guy and Isabella had differing tastes to her, in the bedroom, he had admitted he wasn’t averse to a threesome, invited her to one when she was in Paris, and she could imagine him enticing Marigold with promises of exotic undergarments, perhaps a trip abroad … she didn’t know Isabella, but if she had hooked Guy she would have to have similar preferences. At the time of Guy’s invitation to her she had been glad of René’s possessiveness, but the idea of sharing such an activity with her cousin had made her shudder. There again, in bed Phryne didn’t share!  
When Guy entered the study she just held the knickers up and raised an eyebrow.  
“Not my colour, darling,” he smiled patronisingly.  
“With you, Guy,” she huffed, “anything’s possible. Now, what can you tell us about Marigold Brown?”  
“Nothing,” he chewed the inside of his bottom lip and looked, or tried to, innocently at the ceiling. “Who was she?”  
That possibly was not the right question to ask, both Phryne and Jack were sure he knew the girl, even if it was only in passing.  
“Groom’s daughter,” Jack watched Phryne and her cousin and tried to work out if she liked him, or not.  
“Oh, her,” he shrugged, “may have seen her when I went to get a horse to ride, this morning.”  
“Time?” Jack held his pen poised above his notebook.  
“Er, nine-ish?”  
Again, he had not quite got the idea of an investigation into a death. Initial results from Dr Macmillan who was on autopsy duty that day, were that Marigold was already dead by then, and when Phryne snorted at the hour he knew he should perhaps lie a little better.  
“You, Guy Edward Stanley, do not rise before nine,” Phryne folded her arms, “by which time Marigold was already dead.”  
“Miss Fisher,” Jack leant forward, “perhaps Mr Stanley and I could discuss this in private – men of the world, you know?” He raised his eyebrows, pleading.  
Guy didn’t think Jack could be described as a ‘man of the world’, but if it would get Phryne out of the study so he could perhaps twist things a little easier then he’d accept this idea.  
She tossed her head, though she did understand what Jack was up to, and left. She wandered over to the swimming pool to see if there was anything they had missed. Arthur hadn’t said anything, that he had seen anyone or anything unusual, but sadly even she had to admit any evidence he gave would be dismissed out of hand. He was happily playing in his room while his mother watched him. She pushed a stick into the hedge not knowing what she was looking for but she did eventually find the discarded toffee apple.   
“Now, why would you have this, Arthur, dear,” she mumbled to herself, “where did you get it?”

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Arthur, knowing he shouldn’t have taken the sweet treat was very reluctant to tell Phryne where he got it but she promised she wouldn’t tell his mother.  
“Arthur,” she sat on the floor with him, “I just want to tell whoever it was not to give you sweets, so you don’t get into trouble. Mother doesn’t mind if I give you gobstoppers but only me,” she rolled a wooden car over to him.  
“He gave it me,” Arthur pouted, “in the garden.”  
“Show me,” she stood up and offered him her hand.

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“It was the woodcutter,” Arthur stood next to a tree, “he said it was a secret.”  
Phryne didn’t know what he meant – ‘woodcutter’, her aunt hadn’t said she was having any trees cut or pruned, but Arthur insisted, “big bad wolf won’t get away this time.”  
‘Big bad wolf?’ Phryne frowned, obviously someone had come into the garden, someone he knew and who knew Arthur and his love of fairy tales, particularly Red Riding Hood.  
They had a week to get this case solved before the party, not a long time in the case of a murder with no apparent motive.

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Mac called Jack to the autopsy of Marigold Brown. That she had died by drowning was apparent, quite clear, but it was the other injuries she was concerned about.  
“See here, Inspector,” she pointed to a red line across the girl’s back, one of several, “these look to me like the marks made by a thin stick, or possibly a riding crop.”  
“So you think she was being systematically beaten?” Jack mused.  
“Regularly, I would say,” Mac replaced the sheet, “she wasn’t a virgin, but I think we know who’s to blame for that, Guy Stanley always was a little on the wild side.”  
“Hm,” he nodded, “he said as much in the interview. He admitted that he and his fiancée had, in his words, had a little fun with Marigold, but she was quite happy to join their bedroom fun.” He rolled his eyes.  
“Oh there’s no doubt she consented, there’s no indication of force, but who beat her?”  
“I’ve spoken to her father, the groom, he admitted he disciplined her, well that was his word, said she needed to be controlled.”  
“He would have access to a riding crop, but this isn’t discipline, Inspector, this is abuse, however, all I can put on the death certificate is drowning, I’m afraid I can’t say she was murdered.”  
“Thanks, doctor,” Jack sighed, “we’ll keep looking but it looks like it might have been an accident.”  
She nodded her assent as he left and wondered if there was something else bothering him, he had seemed a little distracted of late.

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Phryne fully expected Guy’s engagement party to be frenetic, loud and lively, so she arranged for Mary to take full charge of Aurelie, have her play with Arthur until bedtime and then stay with her in her room in a part of the house that may be cushioned slightly from the noise.  
The death of Marigold Brown and something else Guy had done, or demanded of his mother’s staff had had the housekeeper resign in a huff.  
“Phryne,” Prudence held her lace edged handkerchief to her nose and sniffed, “what on earth am I to do, with no staff, half the catering organised …”  
“Don’t worry Aunt P,” Phryne soothed and passed her a restorative cup of tea, “you can have Mr Butler and I shall find someone to serve …”  
“Mr Butler?” the society matron’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  
“Cordon bleu trained, Aunt P,” she patted her hand, “you won’t have to worry about a thing.”  
“Well …” she hummed sceptically.

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Mrs Stanley needn’t have worried. She wandered into the kitchen with some trepidation to see Mr Butler, Jane and Dot happily slicing, dicing and chopping vegetables, meats and fruits, preparing and setting out dishes that looked attractive and tempting. Guy slipped passed her and put a pretty round box on a high shelf.  
“Guy?” Phryne frowned.  
“Special fudge, old bean,” he grinned wickedly, “not for general consumption.”  
“Fudge?” Prudence was a lover of the soft sweet treat.  
“You wouldn’t like it,” Phryne shook her head, thinking quickly, “it’s made with figs.”  
Prudence shuddered, her nemesis, and left, wondering how things were going in the ballroom. Phryne had got those communist cabbies she used in her detecting to help, and she had to admit they did move fast when it came to manual labour – if only they weren’t communists, they would be quite acceptable, still she didn’t have much of a choice this close to the night.

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With everything set out and the kitchen cleared Mr Butler settled down for a well earned cup of tea and decided to check the fudge. After all serving substandard fudge, wherever it came from, would damage his reputation. Four pieces in, for it was indeed delicious, Mr Butler was acting in a very un-Butler like fashion. Cec and Bert ran to find Miss Fisher after finding him with his jacket and tie discarded at the side of the swimming pool, his top button undone and his trousers rolled up to just below his knees. In his bare feet he was splashing in the fountain, laughing like a lunatic and when chased by the Red Raggers was found to have quite a turn of speed for a man of his years.  
“What on earth has got into him?” Prudence panted beside her niece.  
“Fudge!” Phryne ran after her major domo, “Mr Butler! How many pieces did you have?”  
Reciting the rhyme, “One two, buckle my shoe,” it would seem he had had four pieces.  
“Four! Oh my God!” Phryne shrieked, “boys we have to take him home!”  
“What’s wrong with the fudge?” Prudence called, “what is in it? Phryne!”  
“Hash!” she called back.  
As in hashish? Guy!” she turned back to the house, determined to have it out with her son, fancy bringing a hallucinogenic into her house, what was he thinking?  
Mr Butler was caught, eventually, by a magnificent rugby tackle, and taken home to be checked over by Dr Macmillan and left to sleep it off.  
“He’ll be hungry, when he wakes,” Mac hummed, “leave the biscuit tin in reach.”

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The evening of the party saw guests in all shapes and sizes of fancy dress. Guy was dressed as Bluebeard the pirate and spent most of the time waving bottles of champagne around and carousing with any of the female guests he could. Isabella was dresses as Lady Godiva, at least that was what she told Jane when she showed off her costume to Jane: a full body leotard in flesh colour with a fig leaf attached. Jane at first called her Eve, but when Isabella corrected her, she corrected Isabella and said that Godiva was fully nude, Eve was the one with a fig leaf. Although Phryne had laughed and Prudence had gasped in horror, it completed Phryne’s idea that Isabella was a little vague, that her parents had wasted their money on her education, she thought even Aurelie would know the difference.

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The party was well underway when Phryne headed upstairs to powder her nose and refresh her make-up. She had asked Jack Robinson to join her at the party, thinking he looked a little down of late. She intended to tease him, just a little, married men were not on her radar but she did enjoy flirting with him. Dressed as Cleopatra she was quite a vision, her white skirt clung seductively to her slender hips and elegant legs while the brassiere top left just enough to the imagination. She had secured an ‘Anthony’ costume for Jack, a Roman soldier, complete with helmet. She had an idea he had a well-turned calf that she wouldn’t be averse to setting eyes on.  
He arrived looking more tired than usual. She hadn’t been able to speak to him that day, Hugh had said he would be in court all day, but when she suggested she may swing by the courthouse and offer him a lift he let slip that the court he was attending was the divorce court. Poor Jack, she thought, but she didn’t think there was any comfort she could offer, she didn’t know his wife, or the circumstances which lead to the place he found himself in.

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Jack hadn’t really wanted to attend a party, not that night. The divorce was no more than he expected. He and Rosie had lived apart for five years, now; she had gone to live with her sister when it became apparent the marriage was not salvageable. He had agreed to divorce on the grounds of his desertion, which was not quite true, she had deserted him but he was too much of a gentleman to even vaguely tarnish her name, so he took it on the chin that he had deserted her. Maybe he had, in his head, but the alternative was adultery and though he hadn’t committed adultery, he wasn’t sure whether she had or not, with Sydney Fletcher, who she seemed to be with an awful lot. Sydney was her father’s godson, tall, elegantly dressed, something in shipping, Jack wasn’t sure about him.  
He blanched at the sight of the costume Phryne held up for him, a cheeky, almost lascivious smile, on her lips. He cleared his throat nervously as she stood close, very close and started to undo his tie. It wasn’t until she had reached his top button that he was able to speak.   
“I think I can take it from here,” he took her wrist gently, and swallowed.  
She pouted but gave him the space. Now was not the time.  
“I’ll be just down the hall,” she whispered and left him to it.  
He hadn’t got further than the next button on his shirt when she burst back into the room holding up a ribbon.

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In the other room, Phryne studied her dress in the mirror and wondered if she had gone a little too far with Jack, just out of the divorce court. As she turned an envelope was pushed under the door. It had a ‘P’ inscribed on it, elegant lettering from a cultured hand; she opened it and gave a gasp. A ribbon, a blue ribbon, the partner to the one she kept in her room – only one person would have access to it and he was supposed to be dead!

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“Jack,” she gulped, “Jack he’s here!”  
“Who?” he stopped, figuring he was not going to appear as Anthony tonight, thankfully.  
“Foyle.”  
“Miss Fisher, Phryne,” he took her hand, “he’s dead.”  
“This is Janey’s ribbon, the one she had when he took her, he’s the only one who could have it,” she insisted. “He’s not dead, they got it wrong.”  
“How can they get such a thing wrong?” he headed towards the door, whatever it was the ribbon was a message of some kind.  
“Somehow he escaped, I don’t know how, I just know he did.”  
“Where’s Aurelie?”  
“This way,” she took his hand and dragged him towards the room where her daughter slept.  
“Hey,” he stopped her bursting in, “slowly. If he’s there you don’t want to spook, him, but if Aurelie’s asleep you don’t want to wake her and scare her, do you?”  
“Sorry, it’s just …”  
“I know,” he sympathised and pushed the door open.  
Peeping in they could see Aurelie curled up on her side, her little chest rising and falling as she slept the sleep of the innocent.  
“Miss?” Mary rolled over in the bed next to her charge.  
“Mary, good,” Jack took over, “you and Aurelie are to stay here, in this room until morning …”  
“Of course, Sir,” she blinked.  
“… if Miss Fisher, or I, do not return you stay by her side, at all times until we do. She is not to be let out of your sight. Understand?”  
“Y … yes, Sir,” she stuttered and gulped, but did not ask any questions.  
Phryne tiptoed over to Aurelie and pressed a light kiss to her temple.

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Everything seemed to go too fast. They looked for Jane, fearing her to be in danger next, and found her in the fernery with Arthur. Arthur had another toffee apple which he insisted was given to him by the woodcutter. He was a little aggrieved that his costume was to price he had to pay for the treat.  
“What was your costume, Arthur darling?” Phryne asked gently.  
“I was the wolf,” he announced proudly, “not any more … but I have the apple.”

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Phryne asked the Red Raggers to take Jane back to Wardlow and stay there.   
“It was Foyle,” she sniffed, “and he won’t stop until he has what he wants.”  
“Which is?” Cec asked, slamming the cab door shut as Bert started the engine.  
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “I don’t know if he wants, me, or one of my family, all I ask is that you keep her safe, please.”  
“No worries, Miss,” Cec touched his forehead, “what about the Little Miss?”  
“She will stay here, with Mary,” Phryne nodded in the direction of the house, “she has orders not to leave her side. My aunt won’t let any harm come to Aurelie.”  
Both Cec and Bert thought they’d rather face a gang of rioting wharfies than Mrs Stanley on the warpath.

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As far as Jane and the Raggers were concerned the journey home passed without incident. They did pick up a stranger, a gentleman claiming his car had broken down and he needed a lift back to town. He seemed amiable enough, said he was a Professor of Egyptology at the university, which piqued Jane’s interest and they were deep in conversation when they dropped him at the corner of his street, as requested. They didn’t see him watch them drive off.

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Nothing happened for the next couple of days. Arthur didn’t get any more toffee apples, Mr Butler recovered from his unfortunate consumption of the fudge but Phryne asked her aunt if Aurelie could stay for a few days.  
“Of course she can,” Mrs Stanley smiled, “you know she’s always welcome, but, I have to ask why now?”  
“Well,” Phryne had wondered what reason she could give and decided to fudge the truth a little, “I have a case, and I don’t want her anywhere near it. I know she will be safe here, with you. Then, well, it’s getting on for the festive season, we shall all have a lovely Christmas …” she crossed her fingers and hoped, “and she can play with Arthur and Guy won’t bother him.”  
“Quite, I do wish he was little kinder to his brother,” Prudence sighed, “I wonder how he’ll do as a father.” The last was more of an afterthought, rather than a direct question to her niece but Phryne rolled her eyes nevertheless.

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Phryne began her search an antique shop. A business card had come with the post that morning and she knew it was a sign, a breadcrumb, it was operated by an Albert Monckton according to the card. It was closed that morning. Phryne peered in through the door while Dot pressed her nose up against the window.  
“Miss,” she shifted her view, “there’s a dog, and it seems to have something in its mouth. It looks like …” she screwed her eyes up, while Phryne turned to see the animal.  
“… a finger, “it’s a finger.”  
“Oh!” Dot stumbled back, “Oh my!”  
Phryne retrieved her lock pick from her bag and swiftly let them into the shop. The dog set down its morsel and looked curiously at the visitors.  
“Ok, boy,” Phryne hummed, “now, let’s see what you have, eh.”  
She picked up the digit and determined it was a forefinger, may be the left? “Dot, nip down the road and get a bone for this mongrel, please.” She handed her companion a couple of coins and started to look around the shelves and boxes, nick knacks and genuine antiques mainly leaning towards his deep interest in Egyptology. She noticed a small round metal box, empty expect for a note stating it was the ring of a King Memses. Phryne searched her memory from her history lessons for a King Memses but at the moment couldn’t recall such a name. She tiptoed into the back of the shop expecting a store room full of more boxes; what she did not expect was a bathtub with a dead body in it. The eyes were wide open, there was no immediate sign of the cause of his death but he appeared to have had a nose bleed.  
“Oh, I recognise you,” she muttered to herself, “you gave evidence at Foyle’s trial, seems he’s got his own back.”  
“Miss?” Dot called through from the shop, “I’ve given the dog a bone, he seems quite happy with it – where are you?”  
“Just coming, Dot dear,” Phryne decided she didn’t need to see the body, “could you call the Inspector, I’ve found a body. There’s a phone on the desk.”

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At his desk in his office at City South station, Inspector Jack Robinson rubbed his temples. His wife, Rosie had been at the house they once shared and taken possession of the things they had agreed she should have. The house was his, deeded to him by his grandparents on his marriage, but Rosie had furnished part of it with her father’s money. Jack was left with the bed, she said it had too many reminders, a chair in the living room that he customarily sat in to read at the fireside, the kitchen equipment, table and two chairs – he had enough for one man, heaven help him if he decided to entertain. At least she left him his beloved, if slightly battered, piano.  
The shrill ring of the phone brought him back to the here and now, perhaps it would be something easy, a little respite from his current abandoned feeling.  
“Robinson,” he sighed.  
“Inspector,” Dot Williams had a sweet soft voice that this time was tinged with worry, “we’ve found a body …,” she gave the address, nice and professional, no fuss or frills.  
“We’ll be right there, Miss Williams,” he hummed, “don’t touch anything, that goes for Miss Fisher too,” though he knew that was a waste of time, she’d have touched and turned things over, poked and pressed, still, she never spoiled a crime scene and would give him a quick run-down on what she thought.

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Only the autopsy would tell them how Monckton died.  
“Right, Miss Fisher, Miss Williams,” the Inspector closed his notebook, “we’ll take it from here,” knowing that was like a red rag to a bull, but he had to make the effort. This case was likely connected to Foyle and far too close to Miss Fisher and the last thing he wanted was her death on his hands.  
She pouted, and flounced out via the back of the store. He didn’t know it was for show, she wanted to get out and start investigating, staring at a dead body wasn’t going to give her any answers.  
She slammed the rear door, again for effect, and was preparing to walk away when she noticed something stuck to the door with a sharp implement. It was a photograph and the implement was around a foot long, fine with a small hook at the end and made of brass.  
The photograph was of a group of people, possibly taken in Egypt, Foyle, younger, pre-war, was in the centre and mindful that he was an Egyptologist she assumed the rest were students, one was Monckton.  
“Aren’t you going to show it to the Inspector, Miss?” Dot queried.  
“Not yet,” Phryne shook her head, “I want to try and identify these others, one of them is the man in the bath tub …” she slipped it into her bag, “come on Dot, dear, I need a quick work with Jane.”

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Unbeknownst to Phryne there was another body in the morgue with no apparent cause of death and a bloody nose. The coroner was looking at poisoning as a cause but when the second body was brought in, he hadn’t had the results from the lab.  
While he sighed and huffed over his work load Phryne showed the brass hook to Jane, who had an interest in Egyptology and was known to come up with answers they never thought of.  
“Oh,” Jane took it still wrapped in the handkerchief, “that’s what they used to remove the brain …”  
Phryne tipped her head and waited.  
“They push the hooked end up the nose, wiggle it about to make the brain into mush …”  
Mr Butler thoughtfully handed his mistress a large single malt whisky, which she gulped down.  
“… then they drag the mush down the nose.”  
Jane handed her the hook back and continued eating her sandwich.

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Phryne caught up with Jack at City South. He felt a headache brewing; ever since they had realised that Foyle had somehow come back from the dead, though the Inspector himself thought it was more likely to be one of his followers, he had returned to the case of the missing girls – Janey included – and set up a room to one side with all the evidence laid out. He had sent Collins to get paper that he could line the walls with, put up a map of the time and pinned lengths of string from pictures of the girls to the places they were abducted from and he had all the files spread around. The only girl to escape was Myrtle Hill, and reluctantly he had her called in. If Phryne was right, and she had never been wrong since he met her, then Miss Hill held the key to closing the case.  
Myrtle told how she had been offered tickets to the circus by a man who said he had them for his daughter, but she had died. He took her to the circus and them back to his shop, where he gave her a drink.  
“Ginger wine,” she sniffed and shivered at the memory, “I haven’t touched the stuff since. I don’t really remember what happened after that, only that I was found in a church. I vaguely remember someone, a lady, an angel I used to say, with long dark hair – I think she rescued me.”  
They let Myrtle go on her way; she said she would go and stay with a relative, far away from Melbourne, until the whole thing was cleared up.

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Phryne passed her hand over the drawing of Janey, closing her eyes and trying to feel the warmth of her breath, the softness of her skin. When Jack showed her the room he had set aside to investigate Foyle it had made her shiver. Pictures of all the girls that had gone missing, not just Janey, their details, where they lived, where they were abducted from their dates of birth and death.  
“All this,” she whispered, “and for what?”  
“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Jack murmured.  
“Look, Jack,” she peered closely from one note card to the next, “all these girls were born on December 21st – except Janey – Janey was born on September 21st. Father registered the date wrong, drunk again,” she rolled her eyes. “I wonder if the date is significant. My birthday is December 21st …”  
Jack had a horrible feeling Foyle was after Phryne for that reason, and if he caught her that would leave a little girl an orphan, and that was not going to happen if it killed him!  
“Jack,” she turned to him, tears in her eyes, “when I left the shop, this was stuck in the door, with this photograph. This,” she held out the brain hook and explained what it was for, he went pale and his headache got worse, “and this is Foyle, Monckton, James Waters, Henry Rhodes and Teresa Cavalli.”  
“Monckton and Waters are dead,” he peered at the slightly fuzzy image.  
“Waters?”  
“Found the other day, looks to be the same cause of death …”  
She shuddered, “has the coroner established that the brain was removed?”  
“Doubt it, he certainly never said, he was waiting for toxicology results when I left him.”  
They looked at each other both knowing they had to go back to the morgue and have the doctor remove the top of the skull.

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Dr Thompson, the coroner, huffed and puffed when he was asked to bring the bodies out to be viewed by Miss Fisher. He didn’t hold with women in his morgue and he definitely didn’t hold with Miss Fisher meddling in cases. She looked at the pale cold forms of the men and lay her handkerchief with the brain hook in it on Monckton’s chest.  
“This is what the Ancient Egyptians used to remove the brain of their corpses, during mummification,” she announced as if it was the most usual topic of conversation.  
“So you want to know ….”  
“We want to know if the brains are still in the skulls,” Jack finished.  
“Well, whatever else was done to them,” the doctor held up his scalpel and when neither made to leave the room started to peel back the skin from the forehead of Albert Monckton, “they were given a paralysing drug. They may well have still been alive when this was done to them.”  
Jack felt Phryne wobble and he knew she had visions of him doing this to Janey. He felt sick to his stomach that anyone could inflict such terror on another being, human or otherwise, he slipped his arm around her waist just enough to let her know he was there.  
She was grateful that he steadied her, but angry that Foyle should deem this acceptable; the person was supposed to be dead before they were mummified.  
Two empty skulls later and two apparently Egyptian stones from the nasal cavities in a small envelope Jack escorted Phryne from the morgue and back to his office for a large whisky, they both needed it.  
“We need to find Rhodes and Cavalli,” she swallowed the drink and held her glass out for a refill, “they will have information …”  
“… and may well be in danger themselves,” Jack agreed, “as will you be, Miss Fisher.”  
“At least Aurelie will be safe,” she sighed, “she’s an April baby.”  
“He could use her as leverage,” Jack warned.  
Phryne scowled.

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“Seems she’s taken the bait,” Rhodes sat in his office at the university with Murdoch Foyle, “it shouldn’t be too long before you can finish what you started.”  
“Good,” Foyle smiled, “let her come to you, the stones should lead her here, if we need to, the girl at her house will provide leverage …”  
“Not her daughter then?” Rhodes felt sure Foyle would use Aurelie for leverage.  
“No, I think not, it will be enough that she knows her meddling has orphaned the child.” Foyle shook his head, “besides even I know that Mrs Prudence Stanley is not to be trifled with.”  
“Teresa?” Rhodes asked, “what is to be done with her?”  
“The same, but we need to find her first.”

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On the whereabouts of Teresa Cavalli Phryne was having more luck. She talked to the bursar at the university. He had been there years, many, many years and remembered the expedition to Egypt.  
“Quite the thing for our University,” he smiled, “so sad when Professor Foyle turned out to believe all the stuff about ascending to the afterlife. Now, you want to know about the female student? Well that also was a first for us. Usually a female would have to have a chaperone, I mean four men and one woman … “ he whistled softly and shook his head.  
“Quite,” Phryne wasn’t about to get into a discussion about women travelling alone, “do you know where she went, after she returned? She did return, didn’t she?”  
“Oh, yes, Miss, she came back alright, and none too happy with Foyle,” he sniffed, “not that he’d been inappropriate, y’know, but that he had taken things from a tomb, grave robbing she said it was.”  
“She said something?” Phryne was aghast, shouting about a crime was the easiest way to get you killed.  
“Yeah,” he leant forward over his desk, “but nobody listened, she is a woman …” he let the implication hang.  
“So … where did she go?”  
“She was a deeply religious woman,” he tipped his head to one side and thought, “committed Catholic … I can only assume …”  
“She took the veil,” Phryne sighed, “she’s a nun, but where, what nunnery?”  
“She was a local girl, if that’s any help.”  
Phryne felt that her only recourse was to engage with the church, perhaps through Dot, who was also a committed Catholic, but even she knew that women were often given the name of a saint when the entered holy orders and it would be a struggle to get the name Teresa Cavalli now went under.

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Henry Rhodes smiled as he held the small artifact in his hand. Delivered by an anonymous man, left at the porter’s lodge and brought up to him in due course. He no longer needed to find Cavalli, and frankly, he no longer cared, he had the ring of King Memses, the two little stones placed in the nasal cavities of Monckton and Waters were just to intrigue Miss Fisher now it was up to Foyle to bring her to them.

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Phryne didn’t know which way to turn. They had found Teresa Cavalli due to Dot being Father O’Leary’s current favourite parishioner – she baked the most for the church fund raisers – and she had told them she had sent King Memses ring to Henry Rhodes.  
“I heard what was going on,” she wrung her hands, “I am going to a retreat, in the mountains, I know Foyle is trying to find his fourth goddess, the one who was born on Midsummer’s eve, like himself and Memses.”  
Dot wished her well and hurried back to her mistress who was staring at a letter she had received. It contained a photograph of Aurelie with Mary in the grounds of her Aunt’s home with a threat.  
“Henry Rhodes is the key, Miss,” she put her hand on Phryne’s arm, “but how are we going to make sure Miss Aurelie is safe?”  
“I am going to see Rhodes,” she grabbed her duster coat and hat, “Dot, I need to you to go to Inspector Robinson, tell him Foyle had threatened my daughter …”  
“Miss,” Dot tried to pull her back, “you should have someone with you, one of the officers …”  
But she was too late, Miss Fisher was out of the door and in the car before she had finished her sentence.

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Rhodes smiled and asked her to sit. Yes, he had received an Egyptian prophecy ring in the post, but no he wasn’t sure why.  
“Miss Fisher,” he tried to placate her, “I am sure it is nothing to do with Professor Foyle, plenty of people were on that dig, they would all know about the ring, Foyle made no secret of it.”  
She stood up and paced the floor, “What does it mean, about the fourth goddess?”  
“Oh that, it was a story, Memses was buried with four women born on the same day as he, ostensibly to assist him in his trip to the afterlife. It means nothing now, Miss Fisher, we know so much more and the Egyptians were a superstitious people.”  
Foyle is still alive, he is threatening my family.” She leant on the desk, “I believe I am his fourth goddess. He murdered my sister, he is not going to take any more of my family.”  
“Really, Miss Fisher, you have nothing to worry about, Foyle is dead, I shall put the ring in our archives, I think the threat is just someone out to frighten you.”  
Phryne rolled her eyes, the man was so darn reasonable and calming, and though she still didn’t believe him one jot, she left the room and headed to City South to see if Jack had come up with some way to keep Aurelie safe.

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“Four of my biggest, bull headed constables have been sent to guard her, your Aunt has been informed and I asked her to please keep Aurelie inside until you or I came for her.” Jack reached across his desk and held her hand. He normally wouldn’t touch her unless it was to stop her doing something illegal, or stupid, or both but he thought perhaps … well he supposed he sought to comfort her, at least that was how he saw it when he looked back on it.  
“Thank you, Jack,” it was some comfort to her but Foyle had ways.  
“Go home, Miss Fisher,” he smiled softly, “go home and see to your household, make your home safe.”

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“It’s so nice to see you again, Professor,” Jane smiled at the man she had met at the party, “and so good of you to bring me the book. I shall be sure to return it to you when I have finished with it.”  
“No need, my dear,” Foyle smiled, “keep it.”  
“Oh, thank you,” she gasped, “can I offer you some tea, we are in the kitchen if that’s alright.”  
Jane remembered that he didn’t take milk but poured tea for herself, the Red Raggers Dot and Mr Butler, all of whom regarded this man as a friend. It wasn’t long before the drug took effect. Their limbs began to feel heavy and one after the other they slipped to lie on the floor, or over the table. Bert, nearer the door to the dining room, tried to get to the phone but only got as far as the stairs before sliding to the floor, eyes wide and staring, as he watched Foyle cut the phone wire and leave the house with Jane in his arms. He realised that they had been given the same drug that the two murdered men had, and though he couldn’t move he could feel the cold of the tiles and the breeze that came through the doorway – the two men must have felt everything as he … if he could have shuddered he would have.

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Phryne screeched to a halt at the gate and leapt out of the car. The front door was wide open. She ran up the path screaming Jane’s name, nearly tripping over Bert and finding the rest of them slumped in the kitchen with Jane nowhere to be seen. She took a brief moment to check for pulses and went to the hall, knowing she was right all along, that Rhodes was working with Foyle and that the reason they had taken Jane was her name, to bring maximum psychological pain to her.   
There was no dialling tone, the cord dangled uselessly from the receiver and her heart sank. Mentally reminding herself to apologise to Bert later she fled back down to the car and headed back in the direction of the university.

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Rhodes was not in his rooms when Phryne flung open his door. Unbeknownst to her Jack had gone to see him, to see if he could find out exactly what was going on. Rhodes had offered to take him down to the archives, to show him that there was nothing linking the university to Foyle, but as he descended the stairs into the gloomy basement, originally carved from the bedrock, Rhodes pushed him hard enough to have him fall and knock himself out. He dragged him to the same room Jane was lying in, bound and gagged, but the effects of the drug had worn off and she could move, and respond to any noises. She heard the thud of a body being thrown on the floor and the door click closed again.  
“Hello,” she mumbled through the gag, “who’s there?”  
The new occupant groaned and moved, she heard him knock something over and grunt.  
“Inspector?” only the Inspector would not swear, the Raggers would have let forth a stream of coarse language, cursing and shouting.  
“Urgh,” he sat up and rubbed the side of his head, finding something wet and sticky, he must have cut his head on the way down the stairs. “Jane?”  
He found her and untied the knots, enabling her to see where they were and to watch him try to open the door.  
“I need something to pry it open,” he gasped and winced, “something solid yet thin.” In the semi darkness they couldn’t see much but Jane found a mummy lying next to where she had been put.  
“There may be something in the wrappings, Inspector,” she started to undo the bandages which made him shudder, but beggars couldn’t be choosers he supposed.

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As they worked to free themselves, Phryne had found her way to the basement, blinking in the half light from the newly lit lamps. Foyle and Rhodes were standing there, waiting. She knew they were waiting for her and she knew what she had to do, to ensure Jane’s freedom, she would have to give herself freely to Foyle, be his fourth goddess and leave Aurelie an orphan. It was wrong, so very, very wrong, but she could see no way out, no other way to ensure they, her family, would survive and live long fulfilling and worthwhile lives. She had always said she was the bad girl, in fact her parents had told her often enough, and after recent events with her mother perhaps this was best, save for Aurelie, who she hoped would forgive her, eventually. But – she didn’t want to die.  
“Miss Fisher,” Foyle practically leered, “so good of you to join us.”  
“Where is she?” she swallowed, “what have you done with Jane?”  
“Jane will be fine, she will be free once you have helped me cross to the afterlife, where I should be. I am the reincarnation of Memses, you know that, and as such I should cross over with the four goddesses …”  
“You got it wrong with Janey, didn’t you,” she sniffed.  
“But I shall get it right this time,” he pushed her into a chair.  
They went over how it would be done, that Phryne would be given the poison before Foyle took her over to the other side. Rhodes began to worry about his part in this endeavour, he was supposed to be going to the afterlife too, but now he wasn’t so sure.  
“You know,” Phryne watching him frown, “that Foyle will kill you, after he’s killed me, and your memory will be that of the one who killed us both.” She tipped her head, maybe there was a way out, if she kept her wits about her.  
“No, you said,” Rhodes turned to Foyle, “you said …”  
“It’s all perfectly simple,” Foyle poured a liquid into a pair of goblets, “we both take the drug and when it is done, you follow us. See,” he held up the phial of the drug, “there’s enough left for you.”  
“Do you really trust him?” Phryne asked simply.  
Foyle ignored the banter between the two and stood before Phryne, holding the goblet.  
“Will it hurt,” she asked, letting him think she was more afraid than she was, and, though she would never admit it to her dying day, she was terrified, “when you …?”  
“Oh no, my dear,” he soothed, though his soothing was evil, “no, this will take away any pain.” He waved the goblet in front of her. “Now it is time to drink.”  
“Before I do,” she took the goblet, “will you tell me where Janey is, where you buried her, please?”  
He bent low and whispered in her ear; the knowledge would do her no good, she wouldn’t be able to go there, or do anything. “She’s where the water runs clear, under the trees, a beautiful spot …” He tipped the goblet slightly, to encourage her to drink.  
She sipped and looked from one to the other, sensing Rhodes nervousness the seed of which she had planted.   
“Look here, Foyle,” he stepped towards them, “how will this work, if you have already gone, who will do the deed for me?”  
Foyle looked up, scowled then looked back at Phryne. “Come on, Miss Fisher, drink up, all of it.”  
She watched them over the rim of the goblet, praying and hoping that the faint scrabbling she could hear was the cavalry.  
“All of it,” he tipped the goblet again.  
She drank, feeling the numbness slowly move through her limbs, the heaviness dragging her down but everything around her was perfectly clear. She tipped the last drop into her mouth.  
“Phryne! No!” Jack had finally managed to prise the door open and he and Jane stood and watched as she drank the last of the drug.  
“Too late, Inspector,” Foyle leered, “she’s on her way …”  
Jane stood transfixed, Rhodes realised what was happening and he was about to take the fall for three murders, including that of Miss Fisher. He reached for a pistol, lying on the makeshift altar and threatened Foyle with it. Phryne watched through a fog though everything was surprisingly clear. She could hear, she could see and she could feel the arm of the chair she was sitting in, the carving pressing through her coat. Those poor men would have felt everything. A small tear rolled down her cheek.  
There was a fight, two shots and Rhodes fell to the floor. Jack ran over to him, one eye on Phryne and one eye now on Foyle, Rhodes was clearly dead, the bullet had gone through his chest, Foyle was lying close by, blood seeping out over his waistcoat just over his left hip. Jack surmised he would live, grabbed the pistol and shoved it into his pocket.  
“Phryne,” he bent close to her, her head was slumped forward and her eyes were now closed but she was still breathing. “Phryne, come on, wake up,” he hissed. She lolled against his shoulder.  
“Inspector,” Jane stood at his shoulder.  
“Hospital,” he lifted Phryne into his arms, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder and he shifted her into a slightly more comfortable position and strode out of the basement, Jane behind him.

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“Doctor Macmillan!” Jack charged into the hospital, Phryne’s breathing was now very shallow, she was limp in his arms and becoming heavy to carry, “get me Doctor Macmillan!”  
“Inspector! Oh God!” Mac appeared out of her office, “what …?”  
“The stuff Foyle gave the others, a paralytic …” he gasped, “but I think it’s a big dose.”  
Mac swore and threw open a door, “here, then get out.”  
“Doctor?” Jane whispered, “will she be alright?”  
“God kid,” Mac turned, “what are you doing here?”  
“Foyle kidnapped Jane,” Jack loosened his tie, “Rhodes got me, but I’m not sure what Miss Fisher thought she was doing. I need to get Foyle to a hospital …”  
“Use the phone in my office, now beat it, I need to see to Phryne.” She patted Jane’s arm and tried to give her a reassuring smile, but she wasn’t sure how long it would take for her to come round, if she was going to.

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The coroner was sent for to collect Rhodes’ body, the ambulance was sent to take Foyle to a hospital where he would be treated and guarded by two of Victoria’s burliest, now that Jack could release two from guarding Miss Aurelie. Foyle would live, at least long enough to be taken to the hangman’s noose, Jack vowed to watch and possibly have Dr Macmillan vouch for his death.

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Mac sat next to Phryne’s bed. As far as anyone could tell Miss Fisher was sleeping, her chest rose and fell regularly though her breathing was still shallow. She was pale, there were no fluttering eyelids or twitching. She didn’t flinch or sniff whenever Mac touched her, pinched her or spoke to her. She wasn’t going to leave her side until something happened – until she woke up.  
“If you die, Phryne Fisher, I’ll bloody kill you,” she hissed in her ear, hoping the cliché would at least garner a small smile, but there was nothing.  
“Doctor?” Jack slipped into the room, “how is she?”  
“I don’t know, is the honest truth, Inspector,” she sighed. He thought she looked tired, possibly a little scared she was going to lose her best friend.   
“I spoke to Mrs Stanley,” he sat on the other side of the bed, “she says Miss Aurelie is asking for her.”  
“I can’t believe she would put herself in that position, where Aurelie was going to lose her only parent,” Mac rubbed her face with her hands.  
“I think she did it to keep her safe, at least she thought it was the only way to keep her safe,” Jack ran the brim of his hat through his fingers, “though Aurelie is an April baby and would be safe just because of that. Right …” he stood up, “do you trust me?”  
“Eh?” she blinked, “to do what?”  
“With her,” he nodded towards the Lady Detective.  
“What have you got in mind?”  
“Bear with me, I shall be back. Something Mrs Stanley said.” He put his hat on his head and left, sharply.

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“She’s in bed, Inspector,” Prudence Stanley looked him up and down, “it’s too late to wake her.”  
“I don’t want to wake her, I want to wake her mother,” he looked down at Phryne’s aunt, “she’s unconscious, drugged and … well you said that Mary said when she is upset Miss Aurelie has, or had, a habit of creeping into her mother’s bed.”  
“Apparently so,” Prudence stepped aside to let him in, “but if Phryne is ill …”  
“I think she just needs a prompt, a reminder of why she should wake up, what she has to live for,” he fumbled his way through his reasoning, tired and frustrated and worried.  
“Wait here.”  
He stood looking around, listening for any sound, a sign that Mrs Stanley was agreeable to his suggestion.

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Mac looked up as the door opened. Jack entered, carrying the half-asleep child, wrapped in a soft wool blanket and his coat.  
“Jack,” she stood up and went over to him, “what are you doing?”  
“Aurelie needs her mother,” he whispered.  
He went over to the bed and carefully unwrapped the child, then tucked her up with Phryne.  
“Maman?” the child mumbled and snuggled closer, “I missed you.”  
It felt as if everyone in the room was holding their breath …  
“Did she just...?” Mac went over to the bed, “she did,” she put her hand gently on Phryne’s chest and she sighed again. Phryne’s arm moved round her daughter and she seemed to settle with her secure in her arms.  
Mac looked up, a tear rolled down her cheek, “thank you,” she mouthed at Jack.  
“My pleasure, doctor,” he smiled and reached over to pat her shoulder, “I’ll drop by in the morning, if that’s acceptable?”  
“Anytime, Inspector, anytime,” and she returned to her vigil at the bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has been the hardest chapter to write so far, hence the length of time between posting. Such a major part of Phryne's story I couldn't leave it out but didn't want to write a complete version of the screenplay. Also I decided to let Teresa live.


	9. Home - at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack goes completely soft as Aurelie steals his heart, and we get to the end of Season 1.

Jack drove quickly back to his little, sparsely furnished bungalow. He felt drained and at the same time uplifted, Phryne was going to be alright, Foyle would never see the light of day again, but it had been a draining case. The man was clearly quite mad and the way he had killed his victims made him think about going to a bar and drinking himself into a stupor. Instead he parked his car outside the house and headed inside.  
Leaning against the door he turned the key and listened to the smothering silence. Though Rosie had left him five years previously he had never noticed just how deafeningly quiet it was in his house. He hung his coat and hat up, noticing the faint smell of Phryne’s perfume from when he carried her and the softer smell of childhood, from Aurelie. He lingered a while drinking in the lost ideas of his early marriage, perfume and children on his coat, that was what he would have had every day, to ground him and give him a reason to go home, if he and Rosie had been blessed with children.  
The living room felt cold, only his fireside chair, small table and the book he had been reading there. He would have to get some furniture, he couldn’t very well leave the whisky bottle on the hearth and the only other surface was his desk in the study, and he needed a couch, at least, in case anyone called. He poured himself a drink and went into the kitchen, his cleaning lady would have left something, cold meat, pickle, cheese, bread, all were staples in his small fridge.

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He didn’t bother to undress, he just lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling before drifting off to disturbing dreams of Phryne in a grave, no coffin, just a depression in the wet earth, of Aurelie crying by his side as Mrs Stanley tried to drag the child away shouting that a graveside was not the place for a child. The figure in the grave morphed into that of a child, resembling the picture of Janey and he woke up in a sweat, how would they find that grave now?

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Jack spent half an hour in his garden, cutting and de-thorning roses. He wasn’t a florist by any means but he knew how to make a bunch of roses look presentable, a selection of soft hued blooms tied into a posy with bird’s nest fern around the edge. Phryne always had flowers in her house but he wasn’t sure how long Dr Macmillan would want her to stay in hospital, so these may cheer her up. As he was heading into the kitchen to wash his hands, he glanced over at the spread of paper daisies he allowed to colonise a corner of his garden that tended to be left to wild flowers. A small bunch was picked for Aurelie to take back to Mrs Stanley’s, he was sure she would be taken there until Phryne was well enough to go home.  
“Jack Robinson,” he muttered to himself, “you’re going soft.”

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“I don’t want to go to Aunt Prudence’s,” Aurelie clung to her mother, now awake and sitting up in bed, “I want to stay with you, Maman.”  
Phryne sighed and hugged her, “Now, ma petite,” she kissed her head, “I want you to go with Mary and get dressed, you can come back later, Dr Macmillan needs to do some tests on me.”  
Mac had a whole list of tests she wanted to do, reflexes, senses, balance to start with, then there was her eyesight, her hearing … Phryne was not getting out of hospital until she was satisfied she had come to no harm.  
“Come on, Miss Aurelie,” Mary held out her hand, “pancakes for breakfast, a wash and you can choose which dress to wear, eh?”  
Aurelie stuck out her bottom lip but slipped off the bed and sloped over to her maid. Mac bit her lip to stop the laughter, she may look like Janey but she was all Phryne.   
Mary opened the door to be faced with Inspector Robinson, clean and pressed though still looking tired.  
“Good morning, Miss Mary and to you too, Miss Aurelie,” he smiled, “I wondered if I might have a word with Miss Fisher.”  
“I think the doctor is about to do some tests,” Mary smiled, “but …” she stood aside.  
“Thank you, are you going back to Rippon Lea?”  
“Maman says I have to go and get dressed,” Aurelie huffed.  
“Perhaps you can find a vase at your aunt’s house, Miss Aurelie,” he bent down, “these flowers will need some water.” He handed her the posy of paper daisies.  
“Oh!” she flung her arms round his neck, “thank you, Uncle Inspector,” she kissed his cheek, “they are so pretty.”  
“They are called paper daisies,” he put her down on the floor and blushed at his new title.  
There was a giggle from the bed and despite his embarrassment he smiled, it would seem Miss Fisher was awake and close to her usual self, he hoped so anyway.  
“Come in, Uncle Inspector,” she called, unable to wipe the smile off her face. Mac had told her about him carrying her to the hospital, waiting anxiously to see if she was going to wake and then how it was his idea to bring Aurelie to her. She would never be able to thank him enough, for saving her life, and for his kindness to her daughter – he would have made a wonderful father.  
“Miss Fisher,” he smiled, though pale she looked a whole lot better than she had the previous night, “how are you?”  
“All things considered I think I’m alright,” she patted the side of the bed, “oh, for me?” she took the roses he offered, “they are beautiful.” She inhaled the scent, “I take it they are from your garden?”  
“How did you guess?” he sat beside her, more at home than he ever was with Rosie when she was unwell.  
“Um,” she looked to the ceiling, “the lack of florist’s ribbon and paper, mainly,” she took in the scent again, “and somehow they seem fresher.”  
“Picked ‘em an hour ago,” he nodded, “same as Miss Aurelie’s paper daisies.”  
“I think you made her day,” Phryne noted, “but I think she’s going to be a bit clingy for a while.”  
“Can you blame her?” he sighed.  
She shook her head and bit her lip, “Foyle told me where Janey is,” she whispered, “I …”  
“Tell me,” he took her hand and stroked the back of it, “I’ll take a couple of constables and check it out, first, before I let you go there.”  
It was kind of him, she thought, sensitive, and at this precise moment she didn’t feel up to walking the banks of the Yarra, not that Mac would let her. So she told him what had been whispered to her and he said he’d head out that way when he had been to the office.  
“Just a little paperwork to finish,” he stood up, “I’ll see you later?” he raised his eyebrows.  
“Yes, come and tell me how you get on, even if it doesn’t come to anything, please,” she opened her eyes wide, they both knew if it came to nought it would break her heart.  
“She’ll still be here, Inspector,” Dr Macmillan spoke up, “just another night to be sure.”  
Jack thought she’d be lucky to keep Phryne Fisher contained in a hospital room until the following day, and judging by the pout the Lady Detective did she wasn’t planning on staying much longer.  
“Right, well, I’ll leave you to your tests, doctor, Miss Fisher.” He left the room considerably happier than the day before.

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Really, for such a case; murders – Monckton and Waters, kidnap – Jane Ross, Inspector Jack Robinson, attempted murder – the Honourable Phryne Fisher, there was little paperwork to do. Most of it he had written as he went along, collected and collated the previous files and all he was going to do was a brief summing up of the whole sad and sorry story.  
There was only one interview to review and that was Myrtle Hill’s which had just confirmed what they already knew. He would get word to Teresa Cavalli, or Sister Bernadette, to let her know it was now safe to return to her nunnery in Melbourne and that would be that. All he had to do was to present the case to the prosecution lawyers and wait to be called to give his evidence in court. He supposed Miss Fisher would be called as well.  
“Collins!” he stood up and called through to the front office.  
“Sir?” Hugh Collins skidded to a halt in the doorway to his office.  
“Get another man, a spade, we’re going digging alongside the Yarra,” he passed the case file over.  
“Diggin’, sir?”  
“Digging, Collins, we have a grave to find, that of Janey Fisher,” he pulled his coat on, “Foyle told Miss Fisher where to look.”  
“I suppose he thought she’d never get the chance,” Hugh sighed. “How do people get that evil, sir, are they born that way?”  
“God knows, Collins,” he shrugged, “that and learn it along the way, through life.”

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They found the spot, dappled with sunlight through the trees, the clear water of the Yarra River trickled past and a few birds sang in the trees, ordinarily Jack would have found it a pleasant spot, but not today.  
The constable with the spade started to dig, in the shade of a tree.  
“If we find her, Sir,” Collins wondered, “do we take her, do we fetch the coroner?”  
“Not today, Collins, today we look,” he pushed his hands into his coat pockets, “if we find her, we will cover her up, mark the spot and tomorrow we will bring Miss Fisher out to see her. Then we shall have her taken to a funeral home so she can make appropriate arrangements for a proper burial.” Phryne hadn’t mentioned anything about a funeral for Janey, but he was sure that was what she would want. For now, all they needed to do was locate the body.

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They marked the grave with a small labelled cross then covered Janey over again. Foyle had laid out the body with some reverence, wrapped her in oilskin her arms crossed over her chest, over a light cotton shift. Given the state of her body Jack wondered if he had done some kind of embalming or some kind of Egyptian preserving technique, though not full mummification.

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“I think it would be a good idea if you and Miss Williams came too, tomorrow, Collins,” Jack dropped his constable at the door to city South, “Miss Fisher may have need of her companion.”  
“Very well, Sir,” Hugh tugged the chinstrap of his helmet down into place, “and …” he nodded to the constable who had wielded the spade so carefully.  
“Jeffcote,” Jack turned to the junior officer, “I should like you to uncover the body again, you know how far down to dig.”  
“Sir,” Jeffcote nodded and disappeared into the station.  
Jack finished the paperwork, the last piece of evidence about Janey’s body, her resting place, signed the sheet and slipped it into the file, all he would need would be a formal statement from Phryne. He allowed himself to relax a little before picking up the phone and calling the priest who had told Dot where Teresa Cavalli was.  
“Father,” he sat back in his chair, “Inspector Robinson, City South. I wonder if you could get a message to Teresa Cavalli for me.” He waited while the priest hummed and aahed before agreeing.  
“I would just like her to know that Foyle has been apprehended and will not be troubling anyone again.” There was a pause in which he imagined Father O’Leary crossing himself before asking him if he had been killed.  
“No, he’s handcuffed to a prison hospital bed under heavy guard,” Jack dismissed the idea, “I fully expect him to swing, for what he did to the two men he killed and the four little girls he murdered some years ago.”  
“God save us,” the priest sighed, “such wickedness.”  
“Indeed, Father, indeed,” Jack nodded.  
“I’ll contact the retreat and let her know, though she may stay longer.”  
“I just wanted her to know her life is no longer in danger.” Jack signed off and went to see if there was any tea about.  
There wasn’t any freshly brewed, but there was Dorothy Williams and a basket in the front office.  
“Inspector,” she smiled, Hugh was a lucky man, he though, she was a sweet girl with a backbone of steel. “Miss Fisher asked me and Mr Butler to bring your lunch over, she said you probably hadn’t eaten properly in the last day or so.”  
Bearing in mind Jack had only had a sandwich the night before and a slice of station toast that morning he had to agree, and his stomach rumbled as if to remind him of such.  
“That is most kind of her, and you,” He smiled, imagining what might be in the basket, “I take it you have been to see her today?”  
“Oh, yes, Sir, she needed her own nightwear and toiletries,” she laughed, “she also asked for a rope to abseil down the side of the building because Dr Macmillan won’t let her come home until tomorrow.”  
Jack rolled his eyes, “I assume you forgot that, when you packed her things?”  
“Must have slipped my mind, Inspector,” she looked innocent, something she was much better at than her mistress.

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Jack pushed the basket to the corner of his desk and sat back with a satisfied sigh. His once empty stomach was full of cheese, ham and mustard pickle sandwiches, pork pie, tomatoes, sweet apple pie - all washed down with good coffee from a flask. He would finish any paperwork and head over to the hospital to thank her and to tell her their search had been successful. He could then make arrangements for her to visit the site. He could also arrange for the funeral home to collect the body, if she so wished it. It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to.

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Phryne argued with Mac that she could rest just as easily at home. The doctor was happy with all her tests, so far, though her balance was a little off and she was weak – Phryne just said she was tired.  
“Please, Mac,” she sighed, “you know I don’t like hospitals.”  
“I know, darling,” Mac sat on the edge of the bed, “but he gave you enough to knock you out for a considerable amount of time.”  
“Is the patient causing you trouble, doctor?” Jack slipped unnoticed into the room.  
“No more than usual, Inspector,” Mac looked up and smiled, “how goes your day?”  
“Yes, Jack, did you find her?” Phryne sat up with an eager look on her face.  
“We did, Miss Fisher,” he turned his hat round by the brim, “right where you said she would be. I wondered if you would like me to contact a funeral home for tomorrow, after you have seen her?” There was no getting away from Phryne wanting to see Janey and where she had been laid to rest so he may as well get on with it.  
“Oh, Jack, would you?”  
“Of course, I assumed you would want to give her a proper funeral,” he nodded.  
“I don’t think I had thought that far,” she mused, “but yes, she should have a proper resting place, where I can visit.”  
“Then I shall collect you from here in the morning, shall I?”  
Phryne glowered, she still hoped she could get him to persuade Mac to let her go home, it seemed he was on the doctor’s side.  
“Would you like me to bring Miss Aurelie to you?” he raised his eyebrows, going on before she could object to further confinement, “perhaps the doctor would allow her to stay for the evening?” he looked across at Mac.  
“I think that would be perfectly acceptable,” she nodded, thinking anything that would keep Phryne under her watchful eye was a good thing.  
“Huh,” Phryne blew out, “well in that case can you ask Mr Butler to send a basket for our dinner?”  
“I’ll do that,” Mac folded her arms, “after I have checked your balance again.”  
Phryne pouted and Jack tried hard to hide his smile, she was like a petulant teenager, a naughty child, when she didn’t get her own way. Perhaps he would see that Miss Aurelie had her night things and she could spend the night with her mother. He bid her good bye and left with the continuing thought that he was becoming a full-blown softy, if would never do for that to get out round the criminal fraternity in Melbourne. Truth was Miss Aurelie Fisher had wormed her way into his heart.

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Mrs Stanley wasn’t sure how she felt about Inspector Robinson appearing on her doorstep yet again, requesting she allow her great niece to spend time with her mother in the hospital.  
“Really, Inspector?” she raised an eyebrow, “do you think a hospital is the best place for a child?”  
“Generally, I would say it is not,” he smiled, “but, Dr Macmillan wants Miss Fisher to stay in overnight and, as Miss Aurelie was the catalyst that brought her out of the coma … and Miss Aurelie has missed her, you yourself said so.”  
“Do you really think so, that it is because of Aurelie my niece is awake and recovering.”  
“When I tucked her up with her mother, Miss Fisher put her arms round her and seemed to sigh. She settled to sleep rather than unconsciousness … “he recalled the previous evening, “I really do think Miss Aurelie will help, a lot.”  
“Well, I suppose it can’t hurt,” she huffed, “wait here, please.”  
“Thank you, oh, and could her nightclothes be sent too, perhaps Miss Fisher will think twice about abseiling down the walls of the hospital in order to make her escape.”  
Mrs Stanley sighed and headed up the stairs to where Aurelie was playing with Arthur.  
“Mary,” she pushed open the bedroom door, “will you collect Aurelie’s night-things, she is going to stay with her mother tonight.”  
Mary got up from the floor, bobbed a little curtsey and left the room.  
“The Inspector is here to collect you, dear,” Aunt Prudence looked down on the carousel they habitually played with, “you are going to see your Maman, and I expect you will stay with her tonight.”  
“Is she still in hospital, Aunt Prudence?” Aurelie couldn’t hide her delight that she was going to see her mother, and that the Inspector had called to take her to her.  
“Yes, dear, for another night. Dr Macmillan wants to be sure she is completely better.”  
Aurelie hugged Arthur and said she would see him again soon, he was used to her comings and goings now and didn’t question her being taken back home anymore. At first, he had sulked but as the time had gone on and she had come to play with him regularly he began to understand she would always come back to him.

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Heads were turned in the hospital at the sight of Detective Inspector Robinson, of the Royal Victorian Constabulary carrying a little girl through the corridors and up the stairs. Her blonde curls bounced under the brim of her sun bonnet, the hem of her pale blue summer dress was draped over the Inspector’s arm and her socks, for once, were both pulled up to her knees. She had one arm around his neck and the other hand was holding the revere of his jacket and she was looking at him with adoration. He had saved her Maman from some terrible bad man, collected her from her Aunt Prudence’s house in spite of the obvious disapproval - he would forever be her hero.  
Jack pushed open the door and gasped. Phryne and Dot were in the process of looking at clothes, Phryne’s clothes – a black blouse and trousers, black coat and broad brimmed hat.  
“Planning an escape, Miss fisher?” he tutted.  
“What? Oh no, it’s for tomorrow, really,” she smiled, “oh, Aurelie, cherie,” she held her arms out for her daughter.  
“What do you think, Miss Aurelie?” Jack looked at the child, “is Maman planning a breakout?”  
Aurelie wriggled just enough to indicate she wished to be put on her own two feet, and went over to her mother.  
“Maman?” she put her hands on her hips and stared at her, “doesn’t Auntie Mac want you to stay for another night?”  
Jack hid his laughter in a coughing fit, Dot put her hand over her mouth and Mary stood there aghast as she recognised the stance she took with her charge if she needed a little persuasion.  
“Really, darling,” Phryne pouted, “I am going to stay, if you will stay with me, please.”  
“All night,” her eyes widened.  
“All night,” Phryne nodded and lifted her onto the bed, “Mr Butler has sent over lots of food for us, and Uncle Inspector …” she looked out of the corner eye at Jack, “… we shall have a picnic on my bed.”  
“Yay!” Aurelie bounced up and down, which made Phryne wince. She had had to admit to Mac that she did have a little bit of a headache.  
“Miss Aurelie,” Mary, who had followed Jack through the hospital at a trot, “we don’t bounce on beds.”  
Aurelie pouted, Phryne laughed and Jack just shook his head. He was sure Phryne thought beds were for bouncing on too.  
“Now,” she pulled the hamper onto the bed, “let’s see what Mr Butler has sent us, shall we? Oh, aren’t you staying Dot?” she blinked as Dot headed for the door.  
“Er, no, thank you, Miss,” her companion blushed, “Hugh has offered to take me to the pictures.”  
“Oh, lovely,” Phryne smiled, “enjoy your evening.”  
“You too, Miss.”  
“Aha! don’t think you are getting off scot free, Uncle Inspector,” she teased as he too headed for the door, “I insist you stay, we have to feed you up, don’t we Aurelie.”  
Aurelie laughed and turned, “please stay, Uncle Inspector,” she fluttered her eyelashes.  
So he stayed and he had to admit, to himself, it was one of the nicest evenings he had spent in recent times.  
With Aurelie in the room they couldn’t discuss the case, for which Jack was quite relieved, he didn’t want to relive it, he didn’t want to think they had nearly lost Phryne but at some point he needed to remind her that it might be a better idea if she let him in on her plans. Just in case she needed backup, gently, he needed to tell he she was not immortal.  
He took his leave after they had eaten all the food and drunk the lemonade. Aurelie was got ready for bed by her mother, Mac had come in to give one final check on her reluctant patient and to sneak a few bites and they arranged that he would collect her in the morning and take her to the graveside.  
“We can take Aurelie home first …”  
“Can’t I come too?” the little girl pouted. But no amount of eyelash fluttering and head tipping changed the mind of her mother or the Inspector, she was going home, a makeshift grave or even a proper one, was no place for a five year old.  
“Huh,” she slumped against the pillow.  
“Perhaps Luna Park, at the weekend?” Jack suggested, thinking that would give Miss Fisher time to be fully recovered to enjoy a day out properly.

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Phryne was uncharacteristically nervous as she dressed in the black ensemble Dot had left the previous evening. She dressed Aurelie in the clothes Mary had sent, a red pleated dress, socks and a matching cardigan, before they ate a light breakfast from the hospital kitchen. Phryne managed to sip a cup of tea and nibble some toast though it turned to dust in her mouth. Aurelie was too focused on her eggs to notice though she said Mr Butler did them better.  
“He does a lot of things better, cherie,” her mother agreed, “but you can perhaps ask him to make you some pancakes when you get home.”  
“Mmm, scrummy,” she grinned.  
The door opened and Mac walked in, pleased to see her patient up and dressed but more importantly still there.  
“Morning,” she smiled, and headed over to do Phryne final checks, “how are you?”  
“Pretty well,” Phryne tipped her head, “I think. I’ve had a good night’s sleep and a little something to eat.”  
“Well, I still want you to take things easy for a day or two,” Mac put her stethoscope round her neck, “no chasing thieves and robbers round the docks. Can you keep her in for me, Aurelie?” she turned to the child sitting politely on the bed swinging her feet.  
“I’ll try, Auntie Mac,” she nodded, “but Uncle Inspector said he would take me to Luna Park, and Maman.”  
“I think I can allow that, and thank you for making sure your Maman stayed here last night.” Mac grinned.  
Aurelie giggled.  
“Uncle Inspector only suggested it, ma petite, he may be busy, you never know,” Phryne reminded her kindly that the Inspector was a working man.  
Aurelie pouted, Jack had not let her down so far, she trusted him to keep his word.

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Jack took a deep breath and pushed the door to Phryne’s room open. She was sitting in a chair by her bed, dressed, except for her hat, and reading to Aurelie. At least the child would have taken her mind off the coming morning’s activity for a while, even with her make-up he could see she was pale. Showing grieving relatives the bodies of their loved ones, carefully presented by the coroner for identification purposes, paled into insignificance at the enormity of what he had to do this day. While Janey was not as decomposed as he had expected she was, nevertheless, a nearly twenty year old corpse.

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Jack left Phryne in the car while he took Aurelie into the house. She had asked him to do this for her, not wanting to face Jane or Mr Butler until she had been to the site. She knew Dot would be there for her, but she was sure that being still slightly fragile from her own ordeal, a situation she found irksome to say the least, she was likely to start blubbing before she saw Janey.  
“Oh Aurelie,” Jane held out her arms for her adopted sister, “good, now we have to make things for your Maman’s birthday, but you have to keep it a secret.”  
“Can I make a card?” Aurelie took her hat off. “Thank you, Uncle Inspector,” she turned to Jack and smiled, “look after Maman for me.”  
“I most certainly will, Miss Aurelie,” he nodded, “now, it seems you have things of the utmost importance to do, so I shall see you later.”  
“Ok,” she took Jane’s offered hand and headed into the kitchen asking if Mr Butler could make her some pancakes first.

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They drove in silence to the site of the grave. Phryne noticed it was a pleasant place, with trees overhanging the banks of the Yarra which bubbled its way towards the city of Melbourne. Early sunlight left dappled shade on the ground as Jeffcote started to uncover that which he had lightly covered the previous day. The soil was damp with dew but no rain had fallen in the night and it was otherwise quite dry. Dot and Hugh stood to one side as he stuck his space into the ground and gently uncovered the head and shoulders of Janey Fisher.  
Phryne walked slowly to the edge of the grave and stared down at her sister. All the emotions she could think of bubbled up inside her, fear, sorrow, pain … her breath hitched and Jack moved to stand close, just a little behind her and she slumped to her knees and reached in, not quite touching and let eighteen years of tears flow. Her shoulders shook with sobs and she reached for Jack, for a steadying hand to ground her and assure her this was not one of the many dreams she had had of finding her sister.  
“I’m sorry,” she haltingly whispered, “Janey, I’m so very sorry, I was supposed to look after you and I failed.” After a while she squeezed Jack’s hand, indicating he should help her to stand. He kept hold of her arm and even slipped his arm round her waist to steady her, feeling she was still weakened from the poison and from the intense emotion. “I should have been a better sister.”  
“This was not your doing, Phryne,” he soothed, “Foyle is responsible, and only Foyle.”  
“What if I do the same with Aurelie?”  
“You won’t,” he tipped her head so he could look into her eyes, “you won’t.” He passed her a handkerchief, clean and pressed and brought specifically for this, “now, let’s get her out of here and you can move on to making appropriate arrangements.” He waved the funeral directors over.   
They had brought a simple coffin with them, he had asked that they not use a standard ‘body bag’, and explained that there would be no need to take her to the hospital morgue for the county coroner to do an autopsy. They knew how she died and Phryne didn’t need that confirming on paper, it was enough that she knew.  
To give her time to compose herself before she saw Aurelie and phoned her aunt, Jack took her to a small café where he bought her a cup of tea and let her ramble on about how she and Janey had played pirates, and snuck into circuses, run around the streets of the markets and ‘helped themselves’ to pieces of fruit.  
“Aurelie used to play Peter Pan with Mary at my parents’ home.” She recalled going into the nursery that day, after the argument with Gordon Heronlea, “it so reminded me of my childhood games with Janey.”  
“Now where did she get the idea for that?” Jack sipped his tea and looked at her over the rim of his cup.  
“I used to read to her, from a copy of the book I bought her when we went to London. She loved it, probably still does.” She smiled a weak smile.  
“Phryne, Miss Fisher,” he set his cup down, “I’m afraid I do need you to make a formal statement. Not now,” he added the last quickly as she looked up, “but soon.”  
“Of course,” she nodded and sighed, “I shall prepare one for you.”  
“No rush, I’m sure you will want to make Janey’s arrangements, first.”  
“I have to phone Aunt P, to tell her, let my parents know …” she heaved a bigger sigh.  
“Are you ready to go home?” he pulled out some change to pay the bill.  
“As I’ll ever be,” she pushed her chair back, “thank you, Jack, for all you have done.”  
He just nodded and held out his arm for her.

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Over the next few days, Jack didn’t bother Phryne for her statement, he left her to arrange Janey’s funeral though he did agree to attend.  
“I didn’t know her,” he smiled one evening over a drink in her parlour, “but I know you …”  
“I do appreciate it, Jack,” she raised her glass.  
“To the pirate girls of Collingwood,” he smiled.  
“Yo ho ho,” she whispered.

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Phryne found she had run out of tears the day of the funeral. Mrs Stanley had arranged for Janey to be buried close to her beloved Edward and the service was simple and not too long. Phryne gave a short eulogy, recalling their days in Collingwood, kept the hitch out of her voice, and finished by bidding her sister good bye, and saying she would always be in her heart.

Jack admired her fighting through her heartbreak and as they stood at the graveside contrived to stand next to her and touch her arm gently. She looked at him and smiled a small smile of understanding.  
“I have to arrange a headstone for her, but I don’t quite know what to put on it,” she mused.  
“May I make a suggestion?” he whispered.  
“Please, my mind’s a mush for this kind of thing.”  
“From her fair and unpolluted flesh, may violets spring,” he watched for her reaction.  
“Shakespeare,” she hummed, “and from …” she drew her brows together in thought.  
“Hamlet,” he murmured, “Act five scene one. Ophelia’s graveside.”  
“Thank you, Jack, I think that will be perfect,” she didn’t quiz him on his knowledge of Shakespeare, though from her experience of police officers they weren’t usually given to quoting the bard. As she turned away she saw a figure standing removed from the funeral party. Phryne moved over to her and saw it was a nun.  
“Sister Bernadette?” she hummed.  
“Miss Fisher,” the nun nodded, “I don’t want to intrude …”  
“You’re not intruding,” Phryne smiled, “thank you for coming. I know you didn’t know my sister …”  
“I just wanted to pay my respects, I wish I could have done more.”  
“If wishes were horses,” Phryne smiled and held out her hand, “beggars would ride.”  
“Indeed, Miss Fisher.” Sister Bernadette/Teresa Cavalli, shook her hand gently, “may God go with you, and your family.”  
“And with you, Sister.”

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“Come on, Phryne,” Mac consoled her over a glass of the finest single malt her friend had in her cellar, “it’s your birthday, old thing …”  
Phryne glared at the ‘old thing’.  
“You need a party, you need something to cheer you up.” Mac smiled, “just the family, Champagne, music …”  
Phryne could see there was no getting away from it, there would be a party whether or not she wanted one, but, maybe it was a good idea. A few glasses of Champagne would take the edge of the pain she felt at burying her sister. Jack had told her, repeatedly, she was not responsible for what Foyle did.

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The music floated through into the kitchen as she signed the statement Jack had had typed up and set before her. He wanted it over and done with, she wanted it done and finished with so at least they were both of the same mind.  
“Thanks, Jack,” she put the lid on the pen and pushed both it and the statement towards him.  
“Now,” he held her hand, “now you have to live life to the full, in honour of her, not that I see you doing otherwise.”  
“Come and help me celebrate my birthday, Jack.” She pushed her chair back and tugged him gently through the dining room to the parlour. She swayed in time with the music, a vision in pale jade green with a white wrap, past Mac who was dancing with Cec and Jane whose partner was Bert.   
“More Champagne, Mr Butler!” she called, and Jack took a glass off the tray as the butler passed him. He stood in the doorway and raised his glass in a silent toast, smiling as she danced and laughed, seemingly all troubles forgotten.  
“Uncle Inspector?” a whisper beside him and a tug on his jacket, “is Maman happy, now?”  
“I think your Maman is much happier now, Miss Aurelie,” he swung her onto his hip with one hand, “but I think you should be in bed.”  
She giggled and put her arms round his neck, “Do you think Maman is pretty?”  
“I think she is the prettiest lady in the room,” he smiled, it was true, he did think that.  
Phryne looked over and smiled, the way Jack was with her daughter gave her a warm feeling every time they were together. She wondered why he and his ex-wife were childless, was it by choice or bad luck? And if they had have had children would his marriage have broken down? However, these were not questions for now, over time she would find out more about him, now she needed to get her daughter back to bed and him into the parlour for a dance.

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The party went on into the wee small hours after Aurelie had been put to bed, by the Inspector, but Phryne managed to get him to find his dancing feet, and plied him with Champagne until he decided to leave his car at her front gate and walk home. He wasn’t drunk, he just felt that driving would be mildly reckless. He had had yet another lovely evening, he felt as if his life was taking a turn for the better, a cloud had been lifted and even if Miss Fisher carried on inveigling herself into his investigations, he could probably live with that.

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Phryne lay in bed and thought about her birthday party. It had been more enjoyable than the one her parents threw for her twelve months before, this time she had her friends celebrating with her, her found family, and no one was trying to matchmake.  
She was home – at last.


	10. Dapper and debonair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finally gets to take Aurelie to Luna Park, but she is not alone.

A gentle breeze blew through the dining room windows as Phryne and Aurelie ate breakfast together. It was going to be a hot day after a warm night where sleep had been hard to come by for the adults. Aurelie had kicked her covers off and spread-eagled herself over her bed and slept the sleep of the innocent. Phryne had also kicked her covers off and had a fan running over a bowl of ice during the night, but hadn’t slept particularly well. Mary had a headache so she had been told to leave Aurelie to her mother as she had no plans for the day, no case and the Inspector hadn’t alerted her to a crime. Dot had gone out early to the market, before the day got properly hot and only Mr Butler seemed unperturbed by the heat.  
A knock at the door had Phryne look up from the paper.  
“Who is it, Maman? Aurelie paused in her eating of a second pancake and strawberries.  
“The Inspector, Miss,” Mr Butler answered the door and showed Jack into the dining room.  
“Uncle Inspector!” Aurelie grinned, “yay!”  
“Miss Aurelie,” he smiled, “good morning, to you both.”  
“Morning, Jack,” Phryne smiled, “coffee? To what do we owe this pleasure?”  
“I owe you a trip to Luna Park, I’m off duty …” he accepted the coffee and sat opposite them.  
“So I see?” she raised an eyebrow.  
“Giveaway?” he laughed.  
“Casual white trousers and open-neck shirt, no tie, sports blazer – very dapper, oh and a panama.”  
“No fooling you, Lady Detective,” he teased.  
“Can we, Maman, please?” Aurelie fluttered her eyelashes.  
“When you’ve finished your breakfast and got dressed,” the child was still in her cotton nightdress and Phryne was wearing a cool silk robe in pale green.  
“Yay!”  
“Less noise, Missy,” Phryne patted her hand, “remember, Mary has a headache.”  
Aurelie quickly finished her pancake and swallowed the last of her orange juice, then, after excusing themselves to Jack they both headed up the stairs to dress for the day.

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Jack sat and read the paper while waiting for his two companions for the day. He’d found himself looking forward to a day when he could honour his promise to take Aurelie to Luna Park but wondered if it was because he would be also spending time with her mother. He’d had a letter the previous day, from Rosie, his ex-wife, saying she was engaged to Sidney Fletcher. He thought they deserved each other. Sidney would give Rosie what he couldn’t, a life in society. Maybe if he hadn’t gone to war, maybe he would have done his job, risen through the ranks to more than a detective inspector, it was how both she and her father had seen him, he knew that – now. But it wasn’t him, he had come back a changed man and active policing was what he was good at, not politicking, not ingratiating himself with politicians some of whom were not who they purported to be. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure of George, his ex-father in law. He had made a passing comment in the office one day, that working with Miss Fisher was not in his best interests, everyone knew she had an illegitimate child and entertained in her bed.  
Jack had replied that Miss Fisher’s personal life was none of his business but as a professional detective he valued her contribution to his investigations, and hadn’t his conviction rate gone up? He knew Phryne had lovers, she was human, but she was also very discreet, she had to be, she had a child to consider.  
He was musing on George, how he seemed to be in his office every other day, seemingly for no other reason than to check if Miss Fisher was decorating his desk, as she so often did. He smiled to himself, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have a perfectly good chair for visitors.  
“Ready, Jack?” Phryne stood in the doorway to the dining room, Aurelie ran up to him and tugged his arm.  
“Come on, Uncle Inspector,” she urged.  
“Well, don’t you two look lovely,” he smiled.  
Phryne wore a pale blue silk sleeveless dress. It crossed over to the left and fastened with white buttons down the side. The crossing of the front made a ‘V’ neck, the drop waist sat perfectly on her hips and the skirt was pleated. She wore matching shoes and carried a lightweight jacket that wouldn’t stop even the whisper of a breeze.  
Aurelie wore a white yoked dress with short sleeves. The body off the dress was pleated from the yoke and the hem, which sat on her knees, just, was embroidered with pretty blue daisies. Her three-quarter socks were pulled up, though Jack knew they wouldn’t stay like that, Aurelie always had one of her socks falling down, she wore pale blue mary-jane shoes and her mother carried a matching cardigan should there be a chill in the air. Jack doubted that. They both wore broad brimmed sunhats.

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Aurelie skipped between her mother and the Inspector, holding hands with each of them. Anyone passing would see a little family out for the day.  
“What will we do?” Aurelie looked from one to the other, “at Luna Park.”  
“Well, there is the Ferris wheel and the scenic railway,” Phryne suggested.  
“Mary wouldn’t let me go on the railway, she said it was dangerous; is it, Maman?” she pouted.  
“Only if you don’t hold on, but I expect if we squish you between me and Uncle Inspector you should be fine,” Phryne laughed, there was no point going to Luna Park, she thought, if you didn’t go on the scenic railway. “What say you, Jack, shall we squish Aurelie between us?”  
“I think that if two detectives can’t keep a child safe, we have no business being detectives,” he nodded, because if Aurelie was squashed between them he would have to be rather close to Miss Fisher.  
“Precisely,” she nodded, “the scenic railway it is, then.”

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Aurelie loved everything about the Scenic Railway. She loved the way her mother frowned at the ticket man when he suggested the child was too small, she loved the speed, the view but most of all, despite the heat she loved being squashed between Maman and Uncle Inspector. Their hats were held between their knees and the wind blew her curls. She squealed as they went up and down round and round and was quite disappointed when the ride ended. Phryne, and Jack, both laughed at her and promised that there would be many rides on the Scenic Railway in her lifetime but there were other things to see and do.

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Jack carried an exhausted little girl home. They had done as many rides as possible, the carousel, the Ferris Wheel, Phryne and Aurelie had chased Jack on the dodgems, laughed through the Giggle Palace, screamed down the Jack and Jill slide with Aurelie between them, eaten where they could find snacks until, late in the day, they had bought fish and chips and sat on the foreshore and shared the feast, washing it down with a shared bottle of lemonade. Their cheeks ached with smiling for so long and Phryne thought it was one of the nicest days she had had in many a year. Dancing, going to clubs, dining in fashionable restaurants, finding a lover for the night, all these were all well and good, but sometimes some good old-fashioned family fun was what was needed.  
“I hope she isn’t too heavy,” Phryne looked at him, carrying her child with practiced ease.  
“Not at all, Miss Fisher,” he smiled, “and I’m not surprised, she hasn’t stopped all day.”  
“She’s had a wonderful time, Jack, as have I,” Phryne slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, “thank you.”  
“Thank you, Miss Fisher,” he smiled, “best day off in years.”  
“Will you stay, for a light supper, Inspector?” she turned to walk backwards and watch his reaction, “after I have put Aurelie to bed.”  
“That’s very kind of you, there’s no need,” he blushed a little.  
“Oh but there is,” she insisted, “you have spent the day with a woman and her child who are not in any way connected to you, I would like to thank you properly.”  
He wasn’t sure what being thanked ‘properly’ entailed with Miss Fisher, one could never really be sure sometimes with suggestions she made, but a light supper with her would end the day rather nicely, so he thanked her kindly and reminded her they were colleagues, maybe that’s how they were connected?  
“Maybe,” she smiled and returned to walking by his side.

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Mr Butler greeted them with a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade and said he would prepare cocktails after the Little Miss had been attended to.  
“That would be lovely, Mr B,” she smiled, “how is Mary?”  
“Much improved, Miss,” he bowed, “Mr Adamson called by and she spent a little while in the garden in the shade with him. She hopes that was acceptable.”  
“The poor girl does deserve a day off sometime, Mr B,” she shrugged, “but she can put Aurelie to bed for me, while I change.”  
She took Aurelie off Jack and headed up the stairs wondering what dress to wear to tantalise Jack with.

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“Sorry, Miss,” Mary smiled apologetically, “I hope it didn’t inconvenience you.”  
“Nonsense,” Phryne whispered, “we had a lovely day at Luna Park with the Inspector …”  
“Goodness, you didn’t take her on an investigation, did you?” Mary looked aghast, “I could have managed.”  
“No, it was the Inspector’s idea,” Phryne lay her daughter on the bed, “he owed Aurelie a day at the park so we did just about everything. Now, I am going to have a light supper with Inspector Robinson, in the parlour, so …” she waved her hand over the child.  
“Of course, Miss, I’ll settle her and stay with her a while, just in case she wakes where she doesn’t expect to be.”  
“Thank you,” Phryne kissed her daughter’s head and headed along to her room, where she found Dot had laid out a suitable dress that had hardly any back and skimmed her slender figure in a most alluring manner, it was sea green silk, knee length, sleeveless and the front neckline was scooped from thin strap across to thin strap. Deceptively simple, but lethal on the right body …

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Jack found the lemonade refreshing and sat on the chaise, comfortable, relaxed. It had been a long time since he felt so relaxed, as if he belonged somewhere. When his wife left him, he was at first surprised, he shouldn’t have been, they lived almost separate lives, slept in different rooms after trying to reconnect when he returned from the war, barely managed to come together over the dinner table. In the end she had left, gone to live with her sister, but he still kept to his vows. They didn’t have children, the only people they were hurting was themselves so in a way it was a relief. He felt no guilt when he had dinner at Wardlow, or stopped by for a post case nightcap and he was damned if George Sanderson was going to stop him!  
“Jack,” she was standing in the doorway, she must have been watching him think, “are you alright?”  
“You know, Phryne,” he smiled, “I think I am, very much so.”  
They had a lovely evening, for once not interrupted by the phone or Collins knocking on the door, the food was lovely and light, the wine chilled to perfection, they talked, about his marriage, his war experiences, his family, her family, her war. By the time he said he should be leaving the sun was coming up and the day was beginning.  
“I should go and get ready for work,” he stood up, “and you should get at least an hour’s sleep.”  
“I’ll be fine,” she laughed, “I feel ready to face the world.”  
“Is the world ready to face you, Miss Fisher …”  
“It was Phryne yesterday, last night …”  
“Phryne,” he sighed, “thank you, for listening and for trusting me with your story.”  
She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, “Thank you for trusting me with yours, Jack.”  
“I’ll call you, if your input is required,” he kissed her cheek as he left.  
“Be sure you do, Inspector,” she waved but didn’t close the door until he had disappeared down the road.

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In spite of assuring the Inspector she didn’t need any sleep she found herself waking after three hours peaceful slumber. She had taken her dress off and cleaned her face before lying down on the bed, just for a nap, but must have been more tired than she thought.  
She had no immediate plans for the day so perhaps they should decorate the Christmas tree before Christmas was over. Mary had said it would be strange to have such hot weather when she was used to snow, or rain, definitely cold. Phryne said they would do Christmas in July and perhaps go to the mountains for the snow. Mary left the room shaking her head in confusion.  
Aurelie was already up and breakfasted by the time she sat down in the dining room. She was quite bouncy and demanded to know if they would see Uncle Inspector that day.  
“I don’t think so, ma petite,” she smiled, “he has to work today.”  
Aurelie’s face fell.  
“I thought you might like to help me put the decorations up, on the tree,” she hugged her.  
Immediately the child’s spirits were raised.  
“Would you like to go and ask Mr Butler if he would bring the box of decorations from the scullery?”  
Aurelie jumped down off her chair and ran into the kitchen. She and her mother, in between cases and finding Janey had bought new decorations and put them all in a box, then to save them from damage by a curious five year old, the box had been given to Mr Butler to hide in the scullery, or wherever he saw fit to store them.  
Phryne was looking forward to Christmas this year. It would be as she wanted it, her mother wouldn’t be inviting suitable young men for her to form an alliance with, there wouldn’t be troupes of visitors expecting to be entertained. She had invited Aunt Prudence and Arthur for Christmas Day, the red raggers, her household would share the joys and she had, as a quick thought the previous evening asked Jack if he would like to join them, unless he was going to see his parents.  
“Actually, I’ve drawn the short straw this year, Phryne,” he had sighed, “I am on the early shift.”  
“Then come along afterwards, Jack,” she smiled, “we don’t eat until two, I can delay it a little if that would help.”  
He had thought, though not for too long, and accepted. His parents lived outside the city and because he was on duty had arranged to go and see them on Boxing Day. Christmas Day, or the afternoon, anyway, would have been spent with a sandwich and a whisky, and a book. He had found a beautiful doll for Aurelie, who’s eyes closed when she lay down and had a string at the back that when pulled she said, ‘mama’. He was surprised he wasn’t more embarrassed when he bought it.

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“Maman,” Aurelie stood back to admire her handiwork. Mr Butler had lifted her up so she could put the star on the top, “it’s beautiful. Will Jane like it, and Uncle Inspector?”  
“Everyone will love it, cherie,” Phryne smiled, “and with the lights switched on it will look twice as beautiful.”  
Aurelie clapped her hands in delight but her joy was cut short by a sharp rap on the front door. Mr Butler answered it and Phryne could tell from his demeanour the visitor was not polite. In fact, she heard him tell the visitor that there was no one of that profession there.  
“Maman?” Aurelie took her hand, she recognised the look on her mother’s face.  
“Upstairs to Mary, ma petite,” she patted her between the shoulder blades, “who is it Mr Butler?”  
“A person, Miss,” he hummed. ‘A person’ meant someone who did not deserve a name, and in this case had not introduced himself. It also meant that compared to ‘the person’ the red raggers got red carpet treatment.  
“Did he not give his name, Mr B?” she tipped her head to one side and smiled.  
“He did not, Miss, shall I say you are unavailable?”  
She nodded and picked up the empty decorations box, “I have things I need to be doing, Mr B.”   
“Very well, Miss Fisher.”  
Mr Butler returned to the door where the visitor stood, shrugging his shoulders impatiently. Phryne passed him on the way to the kitchen, all the better to see who would call and not give a name. She raised an eyebrow as she registered it was the Deputy Commissioner of Police, George Sanderson – Jack’s ex-father in law. She had met him once, when he went to City South station to get Jack to drop the charges on a football manager. He had said he wanted her brought to heel, after calling her a social dilletante. She asked if he wanted her to roll over and fetch too. She didn’t much care for him and from the look on his face it wasn’t a social call, but he had seen her look at him so …  
“Deputy Commissioner,” she passed the box to Mr Butler, “you should have said who you were, do come in. Mr Butler, some tea, I think, please.”  
“Of course, Miss,” he gave his little bow, “my apologies, Sir, I didn’t recognise you.”  
“I’m not stopping,” Sanderson huffed, “I just came to tell you to stay away from City South and Inspector Robinson.”  
“And why would I do that, the Inspector is a friend of mine.”  
“His association with you is damaging to his career,” he looked her up and down, “people talk.”  
“Indeed they do …”  
“You were seen, yesterday, you and that, that … child …”  
Phryne knew he was about to call her daughter something quite unacceptable.  
“… my daughter, you mean. Yes, he kindly offered to escort us to Luna Park for the day, Aurelie was delighted, it was so kind of him.” She couldn’t have been sweeter if she was made of fairy floss but inside, she wanted to gouge out his beady eyes and use them for earrings.  
Sanderson had never had much luck with women, somewhat of a bully he hadn’t treated his wife particularly well, she had been relieved when pneumonia took a hold, knowing she would no longer have to put up with his put downs, snide remarks and sarcastic comments over the dresses she chose for functions. The only woman he had any connection with was his elder daughter, Rosie, who had married, and divorced, the man he mentored. He could see he wasn’t going to get anywhere warning Miss Fisher off. He turned and marched down the path and through the gate.  
“Well,” Phryne huffed, “what on earth was all that about?”  
Mr Butler didn’t say what was in his mind which was something along the lines of ‘bitter and twisted’.  
“Mr B, could you get together a light lunch hamper for the Inspector and his trusty side-kick, Constable Collins,” she smiled, “the pie cart is a bit heavy in this heat, don’t you think?”  
“Indeed Miss, I think we have some quiche, salads, iced fruits …”  
“Lovely.”

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“Hello, Jack,” she swept into his office with her usual joie de vivre, Hugh hadn’t tried to stop her so she was sure he was alone.  
“Miss Fisher,” he stood up politely, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”  
“Lunch,” she placed the basket on his desk and sat next to it, “so I’m not persona non grata then?”  
“Why would you think that?” he lifted the cover on the basket and his stomach rumbled.  
She had wondered, on the way over, if she should let Jack know about her visitor, and decided that perhaps it would be a good idea, Sanderson could make life very difficult for Jack and she didn’t want to be the cause of trouble – not that way, at least.  
“I had a visitor this morning,” she lifted out the quiche, “from the Deputy Commissioner.”  
“Securing your services, Miss Fisher?” he teased and opened his mouth obediently as she offered a forkful of the light pastry.  
“Quite the opposite,” she sniffed, “told me to keep away from you and City South, apparently our ‘association’ is damaging your career.”  
“That’s odd,” he tipped his head to one side and thought, “I had the opposite from the Commissioner, told me to make sure you didn’t get hurt, keep your involvement low key, but to basically carry on.”  
“Oh,” she processed this, “well, I wonder what’s eating George.”  
“The divorce,” he frowned, “he was my mentor, Phryne …”  
“I think you’ve strayed from his path, given his attitude over the footie case.” She shrugged, “he wasn’t best pleased about you taking Aurelie and I to Luna Park.”  
“What I do on my day off, which is a rare thing, is my own business,” he huffed, “as long as I don’t bring the force into disrepute. You didn’t say anything about Christmas Day, did you?”  
“None of his business,” she shook her head, “he was about to be quite rude about Aurelie.”  
“George Sanderson is a bully,” Jack took a tomato and rolled it around in his hand, “I see that now, he was cruel to his wife, with words not deeds …”  
“Words can hurt just as much, Jack and don’t always heal as quickly.”  
“Yeah, quite. When she died he didn’t take any time off to grieve, quick funeral and back to work. Rosie can be a little like him, but they were always close. She’s engaged, to Sidney Fletcher.” He bit into the tomato with some force.  
“Is he the tall, expensively dressed chap I’ve seen her with, in the papers?”  
“That’s him, in shipping I believe. George’s godson.”  
“You alright?” she noticed him staring into the distance.  
“Yes,” he sat up, “yes, Phryne, I am. Rosie and Fletcher are better suited than we were, and there are no children to worry about, that would have been hard … for me.”  
“You don’t think Rosie …er …” she wondered if Rosie had wanted children.  
“Not a story for now, Miss Fisher,” he changed the subject, “safe to say, it didn’t happen. I went off to Pozieres, and when I came back I was a changed man. Rosie expected a hero, what she got was a lieutenant with nightmares.”  
“You weren’t the first, nor will you be the last,” she sympathised, “we all get nightmares from time to time.”  
“You?” he frowned, surely she was too young to have been there.  
“Ambulance driver and nurse,” she pinched a strawberry out of the basket, “ran away from school and joined up.”  
“You must have little more than a child,” she sighed, “why?”  
“It was the January after I turned fifteen, a disastrous family Christmas where my mother, as usual, was trying to affiance me to a young earl, or some such aristocrat.”  
“She does that?”  
Phryne nodded.  
“At fifteen, though?”  
“Oh yes, I think she reckoned on engaged and married within the year I turned sixteen,” Phryne shrugged, “as soon as legal.”  
Jack whistled.  
“Well, Inspector, I have things to do, enjoy the rest of your lunch, and dinner, tonight?” she smiled a cheeky smile and slipped off his desk.  
“That’s very kind of you, Miss Fisher, but …”  
“Sorry, you have another invitation?”  
“No, sorry it’s not that, if Sanderson …”  
“But if you don’t come to dinner how can you come to Christmas lunch,” she pouted. “and if the Commissioner doesn’t mind.”  
“Well, if you put it like that,” he laughed. She was right, Sanderson could not tell him who to dine with.

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Jack headed to Wardlow, they’d had a few thefts, one assault and a drunk and disorderly, so an easy day. His main thoughts, as he walked from his bungalow to her house were why George Sanderson would call on Miss Fisher and tell her to keep out of police business. His clear up rate was good, Phryne wasn’t being paid so, as a private citizen, as long as she kept to the right side of the law, Sanderson had no right to dictate her movements or work. He shrugged as he passed a furniture store, he really must get a couch.  
Dinner, as usual, was perfect. Mr Butler had a knack of setting out the right dishes for whatever day it was. Today had been hot so it was light, salads, cold meats and patés, light sauces and dressings, fresh fruits, sorbets and ice cream, though Phryne claimed the ice cream was for Aurelie.  
“Of course it is, Miss Fisher,” he teased, Aurelie was already in bed.  
They drank their evening whisky in the parlour over a game of draughts, talked about how excited Aurelie was for Christmas …  
“She was rather spoiled last year,” Phryne admitted, “she’d never had a Christmas before, we didn’t, in Paris, so I went to the biggest toy shop in London and spent on things Janey and I would have loved.”  
“Sounds as if you had as much fun as she did.”  
“Actually, I did. We built a snowman, had a snowball fight followed by hot baths and hot chocolate, good food and it was just family. In many ways it was the last of the good days I had with my parents. Mother invited people, with sons, and it all went downhill from there.”  
“Why is she so hell bent on you marrying?” Jack found it wrong that someone should be so manipulative. “Don’t you give up all your rights if you do so, and I can’t see you suffering that. You are very independent and Aurelie isn’t suffering, is she?”  
“We are not the wealthiest family in England, Jack, we are comfortable, so I think she just wants to ascend the aristocratic ladder. I grew up in poverty, she doesn’t want that, but I have my own money, now. A legacy from my grandmother who was independently wealthy, a bequest from a friend in France and my earnings from private cases, Aurelie has her own trust fund that she will have access to when she turns twenty-one, all invested.”  
“I didn’t want details,” he blushed, feeling as if he had pried into her personal finances.  
She smiled, not at all uncomfortable with him knowing she was a wealthy young woman and where that wealth had come from, she knew he wouldn’t be asking to borrow money. While she knew police officers weren’t over paid, his suits told her he was either careful with his money or maybe had a better background than she initially considered.

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Jack lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. The details Phryne had given him, about her mother’s need to see her married to a wealthy lord or earl had him thinking on his early courtship of Rosie. It had happened because she was always there, popping into the station to see her father, bring his lunch, though that would be a sandwich made by her and not a basket filled with tasty morsels. George Sanderson had clawed himself up the ranks of the police force, not born to wealth or station, born into a family of market traders that wanted more for their son. He was an Inspector when Jack joined Russell Street and had taken the young constable under his wing, much as he had done with Hugh. He talked about Rosie quite a lot to Jack, how proud he was of her looking after the house, how pretty she was and when Rosie started bringing him biscuits, or a cake and later on a sandwich he felt himself drawn to her – or was he pushed? George had once, quite early on asked Jack if he would mind escorting Rosie to the Fire and Policeman’s Ball, her escort had let her down, sick or some such nonsense, was how he had put it. From there it had gone to dinners at the Sanderson house where he had come to know the family, Rosie’s sister, a sweet and inoffensive girl, younger by five years, and it was how he had come to see how Sanderson treated his wife and the younger girl.  
It was Rosie who suggested they get married, but it was he who had to formally ask his superior officer for his daughter’s hand in marriage; looking back he knew there was a tiny part of him that didn’t love her enough for this step, but perhaps he could come to love her as much as she should be loved. He was twenty-one, she, nineteen when they walked down the aisle and his legacy from his grandfather, a steelworks owner, came to him. Even now he felt guilty he had not thought to mention how much extra financial support he had to bring to the marriage, in his mind he was keeping it for a ‘rainy day’. He kept Rosie well, they had a nice little bungalow in Richmond, she was able to have pretty dresses and employ a woman to do the heavy housework. George was happy, Rosie was happy so he in turn was content. They had decided to wait a little while before trying to have children, wanting to get to know each other properly so he had always taken care not to impregnate her until she was ready.  
They had been trying, or not taking precautions might be a better way of describing it, for a child when she mentioned the war and the men going to fight for King and country. How they were heroes, how proud some of the women were when they talked of their husbands and sons marching off. George hinted that a rise in rank would be waiting for him when he returned from fighting the Hun. It had eventually grated on him enough to have him enlist and leave for France. They had been married just shy of three years.  
It was hell, sheer, bloody, hell. He wrote and told her so, told her of the mud, the disease, trenchfoot and lice, he was probably one of the few that did tell the truth. He did put in the advances they made and the retreats, she wrote back, telling him how proud she was of him and how sure she was he would come home soon. She rejoiced in his new rank of Lieutenant – ‘much better, you are a leader, my dear,’ she wrote, not having any idea that the Colonels, the Majors lead from behind, sending the junior ranks over the top into the line of fire. She enclosed a pair of socks she had knitted –probably the most useful thing she could have sent.  
He had come back a changed man and she was a changed woman. She had spent the war working with charities, in soup kitchens, for orphanages for the hospitals she was more self-assured, he was broken. She tried to mend him; fed him well, suffered the broken nights as well as she could and welcomed him home each night from the station. She seemed to think everything was back to normal, he knew it wasn’t. He had seen things he would never forget, written letters he never should have had to write, held his men as they died in his arms … and he didn’t want to bring a child into a world that solved it’s problems by turning guns on each other. Perhaps he was relieved she didn’t seem to bothered about whether or not they had a child, she was busy with her causes. They began to drift apart about two years after he returned. She felt he was neglecting her, he told her she spent more and more time on her causes, she asked him to tell her what the dreams were about, he said he couldn’t, she wouldn’t understand. In the end, after a series of bad nights that had him fighting her, her leaving the bed and sleeping in the spare room he told her the story that it hinged on, how he left a dead man in the trenches, buried under the mangled remains of a tank, because he couldn’t move the tank. The dream had the man calling for him, begging for help, yet he knew that the man was already dead when he got to him, but he felt the cold fingers grabbing at his hand and the flesh fell away from the skull. When Rosie stood there, mouth agape in horror, he inhaled deeply he knew he shouldn’t have told her and apologised.   
“I’m sorry, Rosie,” he murmured.  
She turned on her heel and went into the spare room, he was right, she didn’t understand; she didn’t understand why he couldn’t let go. It didn’t get any better but it didn’t get any worse either, it just stagnated. He didn’t blame her for leaving four years later, and it was probably the kindest thing he could do for her.  
When they met outside the divorce court she told him something, or someone, had given him back whatever he left on the battlefield, his fire, his strength, his honour and now he knew who – Phryne Fisher, and why – because she had been there and she did understand, and maybe that was why the nightmares weren’t so frequent anymore.

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He wasn’t sure what to expect, or who to expect, on Christmas day, but what he got was a proper family occasion. There were no ‘outsiders’, you couldn’t call the red raggers outsiders, or Dr Mac, they were family. Mrs Stanley was there, and she had brought Arthur who, when Jack arrived, was sitting on the floor happily playing with Aurelie.  
“Jack!” Phryne greeted him with a broad grin and a squeeze to his arm, “good, you made it.”  
“Hello, Phryne,” he smiled, “happy Christmas,” he bent and kissed her cheek.  
“Uncle Inspector!” Aurelie launched herself at him and he had no choice but to swing her up high.  
“Whoa there, Miss Aurelie!” he laughed, “what a lovely greeting.”  
“Thank you for my dolly,” she hugged him and kissed his cheek, “she’s beautiful.”  
“You are most welcome,” he smiled.  
“Your gifts are lovely,” Phryne tucked her arm through his and lead him into the parlour, “the book of poetry is quite charming …”  
“I didn’t notice one on your shelves,” he blushed, “and you have an extensive collection of literature. Thank you for the cufflinks, I shall have to find a place to wear them.”  
“Inspector,” Jane turned when Aurelie greeted him, “thank you,” she held up the book on history by HG Wells, “it’s really interesting.”  
He nodded in her direction and accepted a cocktail from Mr Butler.  
“I hope you’ve had an easy morning,” Phryne tugged him to the chaise and on the way he greeted the rest of the guests, the red raggers raised their beer glasses, Dot smiled and blushed, she knew he had made sure that Hugh had the day off to spend it with the girl he was courting, but he couldn’t see Mary.  
“Ah, well,” Phryne giggled, “Mary has caught the eye of Mr Bruce Adamson who came over on the ship with us. She is spending the day with him and his little boy – I fear I shall be losing her in the new year,” she whispered.  
“Oh, dear, does that mean I shall be losing you to motherhood?” he winked.  
“Never fear, Inspector,” she shook her head, “I love my daughter but she will be starting school in a few weeks, I shall be available during the day.”  
“Good,” he grinned, “got to give George something to moan about.”  
“Inspector,” she teased, “will it?” The question was serious.  
He shrugged, “If it does, I’m sure we can weather that storm, I believe the commissioner knows your aunt.” He nodded and smiled at Mrs Stanley and while she was not entirely sure about Phryne being so close to a civil servant, he at least was polite, well-educated and had a very good reputation.

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The meal was superb, the Champagne perfectly chilled and the conversation flowed. There was much laughter and joy in the Fisher household that day. After lunch had been cleared away there were carols round the piano, Jack was only too happy to play for them and he was delighted to hear Phryne had a sweet singing voice. Jane skipped around the room with a sprig of mistletoe and she urged people to kiss. Mrs Stanley kissed Bert on the cheek, Aurelie kissed Arthur which delighted him and had him kiss her back, gently on the cheek, Cec kissed Mac then Jane stood on a chair and called for the Inspector and Miss Phryne to kiss.  
“I’m not sure my kisses can be compelled by parasitic greenery,” Phryne purred.  
“Hemi parasitic, of the genus viscum,” he grumbled in her ear, and just before Mrs Stanley could object, he kissed her lightly on the lips. The room seemed to disappear, there was only him and her; then Aunt Prudence cleared her throat loudly and called for more carols.  
They looked and each other and smirked.

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When all was quiet, when Aurelie had been put to bed and Jane had gone to read in peace, Mrs Stanley and Arthur had gone home and the red raggers had retired to the kitchen to see if there were any scraps left, and Mac had headed home it was just Phryne and Jack in the parlour. He thought it was about time he headed home.  
“Thank you, Miss Fisher,” he cleared his throat, “for a lovely day.”  
“I’m glad you could come,” she hummed, “and that you enjoyed yourself.”  
“It’s been some time since I did so, on Christmas day,” he admitted. “I have worked most of the last five years and those that I didn’t were spent with my parents and sister.”  
“Will you see them soon?” she hoped she hadn’t kept him from his own family, that would be selfish.  
“I had arranged to seen them tomorrow afternoon, my sister has two children but they are older than Aurelie and tend to be out on their bicycles, father falls asleep in the chair …” he sighed, “and mother and Anne keep putting forward reasons for me and Rosie to get back together. This year they will have a list of suitable young women for me to be seen with.”  
“Ah, must be what all parents do then,” she laughed, “I must take care when Jane and Aurelie are of that age.”  
He hummed his agreement and stood up.  
“Again, thank you, for a lovely day.”  
“You are most welcome, Inspector, any time.”  
They were now in the hall and he took his hat off the stand.  
“Hah!” Phryne huffed, and pointed to the top of the door frame.  
“Jane?” he followed her finger, “cheeky madam.”  
“As I said before …” she was very close now, “I’m not sure ….” Her words were cut off by his mouth slanting over hers, gently with no insistence but a firmness and she responded, letting his tongue into her mouth and his arms settle on her hips.  
They parted, his dropped his hat onto his head and opened the door.  
“Goodnight, Phryne,” he whispered, “Merry Christmas.”  
“Goodnight, Jack,” she purred, “and a Merry Christmas to you, and Happy New Year.”  
“I am sure it will be a happier New Year than I anticipate, Phryne,” he smiled, “at least I hope so.”  
“Me too.” She watched him saunter down the path and turn in the direction of his home, closing the door when he was out of sight.

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The weather turned sultry, then stormy and there were quite few days of heavy rain. There was no chance for Aurelie to play outside or go for a walk to the Gardens, even the criminals kept inside for the most part so Jack used the phone to stay in touch. He had managed to see his parents and told her all about how they had seen their pictures in the paper and teased him about his new lady friend.  
“I feel for you,” she laughed, “now you know how I feel when mother gets on the same track. Now, do you think you would be able to come over for dinner, Aurelie misses you.”  
“Aurelie?” he queried.  
“Well, her mother might be missing the draughts games,” she rolled her eyes at the ceiling.  
“I’m sure you have been living it up at clubs and dance halls,” she could see his smile as he spoke.  
“In this weather?” she huffed, “I have managed one outing to a jazz club and got soaked on the way out.”  
“Oh dear, that will never do,” he shrugged his shoulders  
“And now I have to accompany my aunt to a New Year’s do, with the wealthy of Melbourne,” she continued.  
“I’m sure you will liven the evening up, Phryne,” he smiled.  
“Hm …” she sighed.  
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“Oh, Miss!” Dot gasped as she gave a final turn in front of the mirror. “it’s beautiful.”  
Phryne had to agree, the gown was perfect, the Fleuri sisters had done her proud. The line was simple, of a dark green silk, but in that simplicity was an elegance. The fine straps gave way to a low neckline shaped to dip in between her breasts, the gown skimmed her slender figure to the floor and the cowl back dipped to just above the line of her knickers and flowed over her derriere to a mermaid train weighted with clusters of tiny crystals. She teamed it with her Columbian emeralds round her neck and in her hair. Dot passed her a sheer chiffon wrap to cover her shoulders and declared that no man would be able to keep his eyes off her.  
She was just checking that everything was as it should be when there was a knock at the door and she heard Mr Butler greet Mrs Stanley.

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Jack looked around the room. He wasn’t keen on these occasions but the Commissioner had expressly asked he attend as a senior officer. He was just wondering if he could sneak out when he saw a sight that took his breath away. She was glorious, a vision …  
“Good evening, Jack, what a surprise.” she practically floated towards him, “you look very smart, quite debonair, I might say.”  
He had on a standard tuxedo, with black bowtie and white waistcoat, it was stiff and uncomfortable but he forgot all that in an instant.  
“You look stunning,” he finally managed to breathe, “absolutely breath-taking.”  
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she smiled.  
“I didn’t know this would be where you and your aunt would be this evening,” he offered her his arm and the other to Mrs Stanley who was standing next to her niece with a somewhat perplexed expression on her face.   
“Or I you,” she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.  
“The Commissioner insisted, Sanderson is not best pleased, Rosie is here with Fletcher,” he whispered.  
“So, are you on a case …”  
“Phryne!” Mrs Stanley hissed.  
“If I am it is a secret from me.”

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Phryne seemed to charm every male in the room, but after each ‘conquest’ she somehow made her way back to Jack who would have a glass of Champagne she could sip from. Mrs Stanley had cornered more mature persons she could possibly interest in her many charities, happy to let Phryne mingle after the Commissioner had welcomed both of them. If the Commissioner was happy to see her niece then she was happy to let her speak to whoever she wished. Perhaps she could encourage Phryne to attend some of her charity functions, it may bring in more funds and younger contributors.

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It was coming up to midnight, when Prudence Stanley touched Phryne on the shoulder.  
“Hello, Aunt P,” her niece smiled, “how goes the fund raising?”  
“Alright, well, apart from the laundry girls.” Mrs Stanley huffed, “I approached the Deputy Commissioner and that Fletcher fellow, I had heard they had something to do with funding the running of the place and wondered if there was anything one of my boards could do, I have taken on a girl for training from there and she has intimated all is not as it might be.”  
“That was kind of you, Aunt Prudence, I use a Magdalen Laundry, I’m sure the girls would welcome the opportunity to broaden their horizons.”  
“Well, you’d think that, wouldn’t you, but Sanderson says they are well provided for and no further meddling was required. Meddling!” she tossed her head, “how dare he! Girls should be given a chance, don’t you think?”  
Jack’s brow was furrowed, he knew of the place, but there wasn’t usually any trouble. Of course, there were rumours, there were always rumours, but nothing that had him sit up and think he needed to investigate.  
Phryne patted her aunt’s hand, “Don’t worry, perhaps you would be better off speaking to the nuns that run the place.”  
“Do you think so, Phryne?” Prudence brightened, “I suppose I could do, yes, I’ll do that, a woman’s touch and a prospective employer.”  
“Precisely, now, I believe it is just about midnight …”  
Jack passed the two ladies glasses of Champagne and as the clock struck twelve they raised their glasses and loud cheers rang out.

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Across the room, George Sanderson and Sidney Fletcher were glaring at Mrs Stanley, both knowing she was a formidable opponent, but the laundry was doing fine just as it was and they really didn’t want her snooping around, or rather Miss Fisher snooping around. As long as they held their ground things would carry on as usual. Rosie queried their decision to put off the society matron.  
“Nonsense, dear,” Sidney smiled, “I’m sure there are much worthier causes for Mrs Stanley to devote herself to.”  
Rosie was content at that, Sidney was just generous enough to her causes to allay any suspicions she may have and he was very generous to her.


	11. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relating to Unnatural habits, but the story kind of moves in and around the way it was told in the show. Phryne and Jack need to find out why a young girl was found wrapped in a canvas sheet in the Yarra and other girls are going missing, particularly Mrs Stanley's young maid.

Nobody thought any more about the Magdalen Laundry girls, Mrs Stanley occasionally grumbled that Joan, the girl she had taken on to train, was clumsy but, she could make a flummery that rivalled her housekeeper’s. She had been to the laundry to see if there was anything any of her charitable associations could do for them and again, the nun who seemed to be in charge said it was very kind of her but they were quite well catered for. She wasn’t as brusque as Fletcher and Sanderson, and Prudence left feeling that she has made some headway. So Phryne kept on using their services and thought no more about it, until …

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Dot ran into the station and straight into the Inspector’s office.  
“A body,” she gasped and put her hands on her knees trying to get her breath, “in the river, the Yarra … we were fishing … Hugh …”  
Jack took her gently by the arm and moved her to sit in the chair.  
“Take a deep breath,” he perched on the corner of his desk, “now, tell me, slowly, what happened.”  
“Hugh is teaching me to fish, we thought I’d caught a big one but … oh, Inspector! it’s a body; we’ve pulled it onto the bank, it’s a girl, wrapped in a canvas sheet …”  
“Right,” he slipped off the desk and picked up the phone. He rang for an ambulance to drive along the river bank and look for a young man in a dark pea coat and brown trousers, he’d be guarding a body.  
“I’ll have a constable drive you over to Miss Fisher’s,” he told Dot, “we’ll take it from here. If she gets curious,” he rolled his eyes, of course Phryne would be curious, “tell her to meet me at the morgue.”  
Ordinarily Dot would take the tram back from the station, but she was rather unnerved, still, over the sight of bedraggled young girl, whose age she approximated to be somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, and the gash in her head which gave her some clue as to how she had died, but as to why the poor girl was in the Yarra River … hopefully that would come out during the investigation.

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“Dot!” Phryne gasped as Dot almost fell through the front door, “what happened, I thought you and Hugh were having a day fishing?” It wasn’t the kind of pastime Phryne herself craved, but … each to his own, and on the banks of the river they could have some ‘alone time’.  
“Oh, Miss,” Dot gulped, “we found a body, a young girl, I fished her out, oh Miss!”  
“Calm down, Dot,” Phryne ushered her into the parlour and poured her a sherry, it was about all Dot would drink, if she had to drink. Dot gulped it down without registering what it was and held out the glass for a refill. Phryne raised her eyebrows but dutifully refilled the glass. “Now, tell me, dear Dot, what happened?”  
So Dot told her what she had told the Inspector, omitting the bit about her meeting him at the morgue, at least until Phryne said she must help.  
“Oh, Miss,” she sighed, “Inspector Robinson said if you got curious you could meet him at the morgue.”  
“He did, did he,” Phryne allowed herself a little smirk, “well I am curious, so, I’m off to the morgue. You stay here, perhaps play with Aurelie, or do some … whatever makes you feel better.”

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“Miss Fisher,” Jack couldn’t hide his pleasure as she pushed open the morgue door and stepped in.  
“Jack,” she grinned back, “hello Mac, what have we here?”  
“Ah, Phryne,” Mac huffed, “what took you so long?”  
“Ha ha, so come on, Dot said it was a young girl, washed up in the Yarra.”  
“So I hear,” Mac hummed, “is she ok, Dot I mean?”  
“I left her to play with Aurelie. She’s shocked, bless her, but I think she’ll be alright. She’ll want to be involved, thought.”  
“Right,” Mac turned back to the body on her table, “well, victim is young, around fifteen, sixteen years, old, the blow to the head could be a contributory factor in her death, though when I have completed the autopsy I will be able to tell if she drowned or not. Now, scoot, the pair of you.”  
“Are these hers?” Phryne pointedly ignored the order, “what’s this?” She lifted a token, marked with some kind of symbol.  
Mac shrugged, Jack took it from her hand and studied it. He frowned, turned it round in his hand, “It looks vaguely religious,” he mused, “do you think Miss Williams would be able to help with this?”  
“Can I take it to her, I don’t think she needs to see this poor girl again.”  
Jack dropped it into a little envelope and passed it over to her. “I shall need it returned, as evidence.”  
“No worries, Jack,” Phryne nodded and slipped it into her bag.  
“Wait,” Jack called her back, “take the rest of her clothing too, I’d like Dot’s perspective on it.”  
Phryne grinned at the idea he would send vital evidence to be looked over by a lady’s companion instead of the constables at the station. But there were times, she noticed, he was quite happy to miss out the usual channels of investigation.

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“So, Dot dear,” Phryne smiled, “are you alright doing this, I don’t want you to get upset, again?”  
“Oh, Miss,” she held up the token, “she was a Catholic, and this,” she showed her the laundry mark in the back of the dress, “is the mark of the Magdalen Laundry.”  
“The one we use?”  
“Yes, Miss. The girls are fallen girls, you know …” she blushed, in another time this could have been her mistress, having a child out of wedlock and living the way she did.  
“I bet a lot of them have been used,” Phryne scowled, “we don’t all go around planning on becoming pregnant out of wedlock …”  
“No Miss.”   
“Now, I wonder if they are missing a girl?” Phryne continued, “she didn’t look pregnant, but I suppose she could be in the early stages and not showing yet. I must ask Mac, then go to the laundry and ask about her.”  
“You don’t know her name.”  
“No, but if they have lost one they will know who I mean.” Phryne went to the hall and called Mac at the morgue.  
“I see, so, not an accident, then?” She listened again.  
“Well, we believe she worked at the Magdalen Laundry, so I was going to go over and ask if they’ve lost anyone. Oh, she wasn’t pregnant, was she?”  
She listened to Mac ask why on earth she would think that?  
“Apparently, according to Dot, fallen girls work there.”  
Dot wished she could hear Mac’s side of the conversation.  
“Well, at least that’s one that hasn’t been used,” Phryne huffed. There was a pause, “oh, he is, is he?” She laughed, “well I shall meet him there.”  
She put the phone down and picked up her keys. “Jack’s already on his way to the laundry, and apparently there are rope marks on the girl’s wrists and ankles.”  
“How does he know to go to the laundry?” Dot came out of the dining room.  
“Her hands, they are remarkable clean, in spite of being in the Yarra. Mac thought only prolonged exposure to a detergent would do that.”

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“Ah, Miss Fisher,” Jack breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped next to him at the gates of the laundry, “so glad you could join me.”  
“Always a pleasure, Inspector,” she smiled, “good morning,” she turned to the nun who had been looking Jack up and down and trying not to let him in to the convent, on the basis that he was a man, and only that basis, “we’d like to talk about a missing laundress?”  
“Miss Fisher is helping us in the investigation,” Jack returned to trying to gain entry, “as we don’t have a female constable …”  
“I am happy to fill that gap,” she took a small step forward and stared at the nun. She gave in, they did a Miss Fisher’s laundry and if this was the same one then it wouldn’t do to upset her. She was good business.  
They were introduced to Perpetua and a young girl who was to be apprenticed to a milliner. Phryne thought that at least she would have an easier life, milliners were highly skilled and she prized hers. The Mother Superior told them that the only girl missing was called Bernadette, she had apparently escaped from a room after returning in some distress the previous evening. Perpetua said she was being dramatic, that her post, as a scullery maid at one of the hotels, she deemed to be beneath her.  
“Where was she put?” Jack asked, thinking it would be in a dormitory type of room but they were taken to a small building in the drying yard where a young, heavily pregnant young girl was supposed to be repenting for some misdemeanour. When the young girl, who Perpetua was about to send back to work, was told by the Mother to ask forgiveness for her bad attitude, she asked if she did would God start paying her wages. Hence, she was told to stay where she was until she was prepared to repent. Phryne rather liked this young girl, Ada, she had spirit, cheek.   
“… and me name’s Mary!” she called after Perpetua.  
“Not fit to bear the holy mother’s name, Ada,” Perpetua sniffed.  
“Why Ada?” Phryne went further into the room and picked up the sheets that were knotted together. This was apparently the way Bernadette had escaped.  
“They change our names to those of saints when we arrive,” Mary stroked her pregnant belly, Phryne remembered the feeling of a baby kicking inside you.  
“And Ada?”  
“Committed virgin,” Mary/Ada smirked.  
“Hard act to follow,” Phryne gestured to the bump.  
“Hey!” Mary/Ada huffed, “this was the factory foreman’s idea, not mine.”  
Phryne felt for her, to be punished for becoming pregnant reluctantly, for being used by some man who thought he was above the law, was unfair, wrong.  
Mary/Ada looked over to where Jack was speaking to the Mother and motioned Phryne into a corner.   
“Here,” she pulled a brick out, “think these belong to someone else, Bernadette didn’t wear glasses, but …” she showed some scratches on the wall, ‘DE VERE 112’ “… don’t know what it means but she was scared.”  
“The sheets?” Phryne looked at the knots, “is this how she got out?”  
“I wasn’t here,” the girl shook her head, “I was in the Mother’s office being spoken to. When I got back Bernadette was gone and these sheets were hanging out of the window.”  
Phryne didn’t remember the body on the morgue being that small, the window was tiny and the knots in the sheets would have parted as soon as any weight was applied. She needed to talk to Jack and she wanted to do something for this girl. ‘There but for the grace of God go I, or even Dot,’ she thought.  
“Miss Fisher,” Jack called over, “we are going to see where the girls work.”  
“Coming, Inspector,” she sing-songed, “keep your chin up, I’ll see you again, you can be sure of it.”  
Mary/Ada shrugged, maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t but it had been nice to speak to someone who didn’t blame her for her position, for a change.

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“Are the girls not paid?” she whispered to Jack.  
“Convents are outside the labour laws, Miss Fisher,” he whispered back, “unfortunately.”  
They walked through banks of steam, amongst young girls, some pregnant some not, all wearing the same course wool dresses, cotton caps and aprons. Some had marks on their wrists, Jack thought they looked remarkably like the ones on Bernadette’s, some were scrubbing sheets on washboards, some were putting things through the presses, it depended on what room they were in, the conditions were dreadful, it all looked like slave labour, and if they weren’t being paid, it was.  
“We shall need to speak to each of the girls, individually,” Jack sighed, this was going to be a long day.  
“Without her,” Perpetua nodded towards Phryne. “She’ll stir up trouble.”  
“Miss Fisher will keep her opinions to herself,” he stared at Phryne, even though he had quite a lot of sympathy for these girls.  
“Miss Fisher would rather leave,” Phryne huffed, it wasn’t his fault but she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut, “I have other leads to follow and a new laundry to find.”

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The inscription on the wall was a complete unknown to both Phryne and Dot. They couldn’t find an address that was anything like 112 De Vere terrace, or road or lane. De Vere didn’t feature in any addresses and there were no names in the directory - a complete dead end.  
“Oh, well,” Phryne sighed, “I need to talk to Jack about the knots in the sheets.”  
“Why?”  
“They wouldn’t hold Aurelie, never mind an adult,” she huffed … “hello, who’s visiting?”  
There was a sharp rap on the door and Mr Butler ushered a decidedly harassed Mrs Stanley in.  
“Phryne, oh Phryne,” she gasped, “it’s Joan, she’s disappeared!”  
“Joan?”  
“Yes, one of the girls I took on, to train. Oh you know, she’s clumsy but her flummery is divine.”   
“Ah, yes, that one,” Phryne sighed, “Aunt P … I have to go and see Inspector Robinson … a case …”  
“Not Joan, then,” Mrs Stanley pouted. “What’s the case?”  
“A girl, from the Magdalen Laundry was found in the Yarra, they say she escaped, but I can’t see how. It’s an awful place, Aunt P, little more than slave labour …”  
“Ah, yes the one I visited …”  
“The one Fletcher and Sanderson told you did not need help?”  
“That one. But Joan didn’t come from there.”  
“Right, chances are this case and Joan are connected,” Phryne stood up, “Bernadette was supposed to be working in a hotel, in the kitchen and returned to the convent because it was ‘beneath her’. I’ve been to the laundry, Aunt P, and trust me, I’d work in a hotel kitchen rather than stay at the convent. I don’t believe that was the reason for her return, but until I see the Inspector, I don’t want to say anything else. However, I will pass on your concerns to him.”  
“Phryne,” Mrs Stanley caught her arm as she passed, “Joan is clumsy, near-sighted and lacks confidence, but she is a sweet girl who only tries to please. I hope she’s alright.”  
Phryne knew her aunt wasn’t given to sentimentality, but she was kind to her staff.

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“The knots wouldn’t hold up anyone, not even Aurelie,” she explained, “here, she pulled his tie off and he frowned as she showed him the correct knots to use to escape imprisonment by sheet.  
How …?”  
She shrugged and muttered something about a Portuguese sailor, that he didn’t really want to know about. He took his tie off her.  
“You’ve creased it,” he grumbled.  
“Here,” she sighed, as if talking to a child, and stepped in front of him. She turned his shirt collar up and draped the tie round his neck. He looked down, not daring to look straight into her eyes – the air was charged with electricity. As she started to tie the tie, slowly, seductively he tried to control his thoughts but she smelt delicious and as she got even closer, standing between his legs she felt soft and warm. The door opened without warning, Jack took his tie, Phryne stepped back and the Deputy Commissioner snapped that he had had the Bishop on his back about the case, that they need to tread carefully with the Catholic church. He didn’t seem to care that there was someone in the office with the Inspector, but when he realised it was Miss Fisher, he was even more displeased.  
“I thought I told you to stay away from here,” he snarled, “you’re interfering in matters that are of no concern to you.”  
“Actually they are,” she tipped her chin defiantly, “my Aunt’s maid has gone missing – you know my Aunt, don’t you, Mrs Prudence Stanley?”  
“It would seem interfering is a family trait, Miss Fisher,” Sanderson scowled. He turned back to Jack, “I want you to give this case to O’Shaughnessy …”  
“Why?” Phryne voiced Jack’s thoughts.  
“Leave it, Miss Fisher,” Jack sighed, “I shall call the Commissioner …”  
“The Commissioner wants this case handled by a Catholic,” Sanderson growled, Jack could see he was frustrated.  
“I’ll call him and tell him how far we have got, if the laundry was run outside of the convent it would be in breach of labour laws.” He reached for the phone.  
“Commissioner Hall resigned this morning, I am the Commissioner now and I tell you I want O’Shaughnessy to handle the case.” Phryne thought there was a vague hint of triumph in Sanderson’s voice.  
“Do you really think someone with an ‘O’ at the beginning of his name will bring charges against nuns?” Phryne was getting angry.  
“Miss Fisher,” Jack hissed, “we’ll discuss the missing maid shortly, would you mind waiting outside – please.”  
His voice was soft but she could sense the anger underneath it. If Sanderson was now the Commissioner, he was in even more danger of losing his job if he didn’t comply with orders, however silly they were. She wanted to stand her ground, but she also needed Jack to be in post – for Joan, Mary and all the other girls that were being used at the laundry. As she stalked out Sanderson spoke;  
“I told you I wanted her brought to heel.”  
“Woof!” Phryne tossed her head before closing the door a little too sharply.  
Outside, in the corridor, she could hear the raised voices. Sanderson telling Jack to leave the case to O’Shaughnessy or he would be sorry. Jack telling his superior that they were on track to clear up the missing girls and the murder of Bernadette and passing over the case to a man just because he was Irish and a Catholic was ridiculous. It showed favouritism, it would bring the force into disrepute if the church got away with murderer – literally.  
Eventually, Sanderson stormed out of the office, glaring at Phryne on the way past. She didn’t wait for him to leave the station but ran straight back into the office to see if Jack was alright, check he still had his job.  
“Jack,” she gasped, he looked shaken.  
“Still here, Phryne,” he sat down, “off the case, but still here.”  
“Thank god,” she slumped into the chair opposite him. “So …”  
“I’ve got to be careful,” he leaned across the desk, “but I’m not letting go of this.”  
“Why has the Commissioner resigned?”  
“I have no idea, there was no reason for him to do so, as far as I know …”  
“Hm,” she frowned, “sounds dodgy to me.”  
“And me,” he admitted.  
“We need to know more about the laundry, I’m sure it all starts there,” Phryne mused.  
“You stay away,” he warned.  
She leaned forward and patted his hand, “always.”

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What Jack didn’t know he couldn’t stop her doing, but the ride in the laundry hamper on the back of the taxi was very uncomfortable. It was the only way she could think of to get into the convent so Cec and Bert were taking some extra laundry for her, houseguests make so much work!  
Setting the hamper down in the yard quietly, because of morning prayers, the boys opened the lid and she clambered out, rubbing her sore back.  
“How will you get back?” Bert frowned.  
She showed them a rope she had brought with her and told them to meet her at the front in an hour.

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She carefully picked the lock of the repentance room and slipped in, not in the least surprised to see Mary/Ada in there – again.  
“Give me three good reasons why I shouldn’t scream,” the girl grabbed her wrist.  
“Give me three good reasons why you should,” Phryne pulled her wrist away. “I’m not the police, Mary, I want to know what happened to Bernadette, why she ended up floating in the Yarra. She didn’t climb out of that window, and the knots in the sheet wouldn’t have held her. So what happened? And why are you in here again?”  
“I put Epsom salts in the sisters’ tapioca,” Mary grinned, remembering the sudden, hasty exit from the refectory the nuns had made, like a flock of demented crows. “I don’t know what happened to Bernadette. Really. I told you I was in the mother’s office and when they put me back, she was gone, but the message on the wall was there and those glasses I gave you.”  
“Why did she really come back, from the hotel. Wouldn’t a hotel kitchen be a better place than this?”  
“She was scared, she said a man in a black car had been waiting outside the hotel when she left and they tried to take her. Perpetua told her she was just being ungrateful but she wasn’t, I’ve never seen anyone so frightened.”  
“Look, I have to get out, now,” Phryne knew her hour was up, Cec and Bert would be pacing up and down and getting ready to go and get Jack, and she really didn’t want him to lose his job, which he would do if he entered the convent again, for any reason. “Here, take this,” she passed her the lock pick, “and this,” her card.  
“Keep the card, I’ll remember that and we don’t want it being found, do we?” Mary grinned. “Wait a minute,” she had her ear to the door. She opened it just enough to see the door to the building, “he’s here again.”  
“Who,” Phryne waved her out of the way and peered round the door, “Sanderson, and Fletcher? What do they want?”  
“They’re on the board,” Mary closed the door, “occasionally they say they have a place for one of the good girls, not the bad ones like me, and they take them off, to a better life - they say.”  
Phryne could see she didn’t believe them.  
“Right, coast’s clear,” Mary hissed, “good luck.”  
“And to you too,” Phryne patted her arm.

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She had chosen a place out of sight by the repentance room to make her escape. She tied off the rope to a tree stump, obviously felled to prevent escapes, and flung it over the wall. She giggled as she sat on the top of the wall and looked along the path to see Bert pacing. She waved and he ran over.  
“Blimy, Miss,” he grinned, “I never expected to see a toff scale a wall.”  
“Ah, well, Bert, dear,” she pulled the rope so it dangled on the other side of the wall, “you can take the girl out of Collingwood, but you can’t take Collingwood out of the girl.” She landed, cat like, at his feet.  
“Too right,” he nodded, “where to next?”  
“Actually, Bert, I’m not sure, but Mary said that Bernadette had been grabbed outside the hotel she worked in. A black car was waiting. I have a feeling that the 112 and ‘DE VERE’ have something to do with it.” She sat in the back seat of the taxi, “Sanderson and Fletcher were there.”  
“I’n’t that Fletcher bloke in shippin’?” Bert chewed his cigarette.  
“I believe so,” she sat back and mused on that, “Mary said they only take the good girls.”

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Jack had completely forgotten that he had asked Sidney Fletcher to drop by the station, as he was on the board of the convent. It was just a general chat, he said, just to see how things ran with the board. Fletcher told him that it was true, they did place the better girls in decent employment but that was about as far as his involvement went.  
“Thanks for coming in,” Jack shook Fletcher’s hand and nodded to his ex-wife who had come by to find her fiancé. He was sure Fletcher hadn’t told him everything and didn’t think O’Shaughnessy would talk to him, so he made a few notes and added them to the file.  
“Sir,” Collins stopped him going back into his office, “the autopsy report … Dr Macmillan says you need to read it.”  
“It’s O’Shaughnessy’s case now, Collins,” Jack huffed.  
“No, Sir, I mean yes, sir, I know it is, but the doctor was very particular.”  
Jack raised an eyebrow and took it into the office where he saw that Bernadette had drowned and there was sea water and red algae in her lungs. Red Algae? Where would that come from? Sea water indicated she had drowned in the bay not the river, he scratched his head and wondered if Phryne had any idea, she’d seen a lot of the world, and she had been a bit quiet for that last few hours – very worrying.

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“Inspector!” Phryne grinned, “what an unexpected surprise, tea?”  
“Tea would be lovely, Miss Fisher,” he let Mr Butler take his hat and followed her into the parlour. “I’ve read the autopsy report, Mac was a bit insistent, according to Collins.”  
“Oh, and …”  
“Bernadette had sea water and red algae in her lungs, she drowned.” He sat down on the chair and sighed, “this is getting stranger and stranger.”  
Dot frowned, red algae meant something to her, something she had read once upon a time, but she had a good memory, it would come back to her.  
“If she had sea water in her lungs that means she …”  
“… drowned in the bay, quite,” he nodded, “where have you been?”  
“Jack,” she pouted, “don’t you trust me?”  
“In this case I worry that Sanderson is up to something and given his decree that you stay away from the station and therefore cases, he may decide to do something drastic under the cover of legality. Y’know, pin a charge on you …” he grunted.  
“Well, in that case you know nothing about me being smuggled into the convent and discovering new evidence that O’Shaughnessy would probably dismiss as the ramblings of a disgruntled laundry maid and hysterical female.” She tossed her head theatrically.  
“The Red Sea!” Dot suddenly exclaimed, “that’s where it comes from. Red Algae is what gives the Red Sea it’s peculiar colour! I knew I’d read it somewhere,” she sat back in her chair rather pleased with herself.  
“Dot!” Phryne squealed, “but how would it get into Bernadette’s lungs, she hasn’t been to the Red Sea?”  
“Ships come into Melbourne from all over the world, Phryne,” Jack sat forward, “if she drowned in the bay and a ship had newly arrived from that area then there is every chance there would be red algae in her lungs. Now what’s this new evidence you’ve found?”  
She detailed what Mary had told her and the dead end they’d come on earlier over ‘112’ and ‘DE VERE’.  
“Hm,” he mused, “112 could be part of a number plate, off a car, but the De Vere … I have no idea, a name, maybe?”  
“Sounds Dutch,” Phryne frowned, “Afrikaans … but probably English in origin,” she shrugged. “So where do we go from here?”  
“The docks,” Jack felt as if they were getting somewhere and given that O’Shaughnessy hadn’t even shown up at the station to look into the case he was going to keep going. I’ll ask Hugh to do some digging on 112.”  
“I believe Mr Johnson may have contacts at the docks, Miss,” Mr Butler entered with the tray of tea, “perhaps …”  
He was right, it wouldn’t do for Jack to go asking questions when he had been thrown off the case. It would get back to Sanderson and he really would be out of a job.  
“Is he around, Mr B?” Phryne began to pour tea and tried to be only mildly interested, though nobody believed her, one bit.  
“He’s in the kitchen, Miss, entertaining Miss Aurelie.”

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“As much information as you can get, Bert,” Phryne gave him some money to pay for whatever he managed to drag out of whoever he knew down there, as Jack said, the less they knew the better.

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“Jack,” Phryne hummed, “are you alright?”  
“Fine, Phryne,” he grumbled, “the Commissioner’s resigned, god knows why, Sanderson and Fletcher are up to something and I don’t think Rosie has any idea what’s going on, and my job is so far over the line I’m wondering if I should become a private detective in another country out of his bloody way!”  
“Sh,” she went over to him, “Jack, it’s ok. I don’t blame you for being angry, and I know something is very wrong. Girls going missing after being placed in good positions, slave labour in the convent, not very Christian … but you’d make a great Private Detective, shall we form our own agency?” she gave him a cheeky smile which, while not taking away the anger he felt, cheered him up a little.  
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he sighed, “we’d have to keep Hugh on our side … talking of which can I use your phone?”  
“Of course, I don’t think that would be a problem, keeping Hugh on our side.”  
“No, I don’t suppose it would.”

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Bert returned the following morning, looking a little the worse for wear. Beer had been the oiling of the wheels and he had matched his contact glass for glass.  
“The Pandarus,” he took a long drink of hot sweet tea in Phryne’s kitchen, “haulin’ sugar, good cover. Came in via the Red Sea. She’s sailing in a week. Captain’s name is De Vere, Belgian.”  
“Sounds distinctly odd,” Phryne smiled, “thank you, Bert.”  
“Pleasure, Miss Fisher,” he grunted and winced, “if you get the bludgers who are hurtin’ these lasses it’ll be worth it.”

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Mr Butler answered a knock at the door to find a very pregnant young lady standing there, grinning and asking if Miss Fisher is in.  
“Who shall I say is calling, Miss,” he smiled.  
“Mary, from the laundry.”  
“Please come in,” he smiled, “Miss Fisher is in the kitchen, I think she is expecting you.”

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“Worked a treat,” Mary passed the lock pick over to her, “now what?”  
“We’ll find you a place, Mary,” Phryne smiled, “with the baby, if you want to keep it.”  
“Hey, no kid of mine is going to end up in one of those places,” she threw her head back in the direction of Melbourne, “come hell or high water.”  
“I know exactly how you feel,” Phryne patted her hand.  
“Bet you do,” Mary huffed.  
Phryne stood up and went out.   
“Aurelie, ma petite!” she called up the stairs, “venez ici, s’iI vous plait.”  
“Maman!” Aurelie appeared at the turn in the stairs and grinned down at her mother, “qu’Est-ce que c’est?”  
“I want you to meet someone.”  
“A friend?”  
“Of sorts,” Phryne caught her as she leapt of the fourth step. “Oof!”  
Aurelie laughed, her mother never told her off for jumping off the stairs, just told her that the fourth step was high enough.  
In the kitchen Mary was drinking a very much needed cup of tea and eating sweet biscuits when Phryne returned, holding the hand of a sweet little fair-haired girl.  
“Mary, this is Aurelie, my daughter,” Phryne pulled the child forward, “say hello to Mary, cherie.”  
“Hello, Mary,” Aurelie smiled.  
“Yours?” Mary’s eyes opened wide, “Miss Fisher?”  
“Aurelie was born when I lived in France, and I wasn’t living in a house like this, a garret in the artist’s quarter.”  
“So, you do understand.” Mary whispered.  
“Yes, and any help you want, I shall endeavour to provide.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Now, I shall have to leave you with Mr Butler,” Phryne smiled, “I have to see to finding Joan.”

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Phryne knew it would be unwise to go to see Jack so she telephoned him, and told him about the Pandarus.  
“Be careful, what are you thinking of doing?”  
“If I tell you, you will have to stop me, I’ll take back up, but I’ll let you know what I find.”  
He sat in his office frowning. O’Shaughnessy was reading the case files and he could see he was not sure what he was reading, he obviously didn’t understand it. Jack was not of a mind to clarify any points but as the confused man didn’t ask any questions that didn’t seem to be something he should worry about.  
“Clearly the girl absconded and fell into the river,” he closed the file, “nothing to do, now. Paupers funeral, case closed.”  
Jack wanted to ask about the involvement of the convent, but this would leave the way clear for him to carry on his investigation on the quiet. Sanderson need not know, if O’Shaughnessy declared the case closed and they told the Bishop the church had done nothing wrong, then they would stay away from him. He wasn’t sure that was how it would pan out, but it gave him some breathing space.

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“That’s it,” Bert pointed and blinked, his head still hurt, “The Pandarus.”  
“Stay here,” Phryne jumped out and looked around. Nobody seemed to notice a young woman heading to the small rowing boats that bobbed at the walls, waiting to take people out to the boats or into the bay itself.  
She rowed to the side of the ship that was out of sight of the main docks and climbed up a ladder, peered over the edge to check there was no one around and slipped onto the deck. Sneaking around she found bags of sugar, so far so true, she thought, and headed down to the lower decks and hopefully the Captain’s cabin.  
It wasn’t hard to find, nor was the little charm crudely engraved with Bernadette’s name on it. She narrowly avoided being found, voices were approaching the cabin, one she assumed was De Vere, he had an accent, the other would be one of the sailors, she hoped, she didn’t recognise it. She breathed a sigh of relief as he seemed to be called away, even with the wooden carving she had armed herself with she doubted she would have much chance against a burly sailor.

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“You ok,” Bert let out a breath he had been holding, “look, there’s the car, 112, and he went on board.”  
“Yes,” Phryne drew in a ragged breath from running, “we nearly met.”  
“Blimy, Miss, you’re gonna get yourself into serious strife if you’re not careful.”  
“Well, sugar is on the ship, but I also found this,” she showed him the charm, “almost like a label, don’t you think?”  
“Awh, Miss,” Bert groaned, “are you tellin’ me they label the girls and … awh! Wrong, Miss, wrong, wrong, wrong.”  
She patted his shoulder, “Home, Bert, I need to contact the Inspector and work out what to do next.”  
“You didn’t find Mrs Stanley’s maid?”  
“No, not yet.”

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Jack was relieved to hear she was alive and well and not in the clutches of white slavers and had been doing a little investigating himself.  
“The ship belongs to SWF Shipping …”  
“SWF?” she mused and stared at the ceiling, it wasn’t a big jump to Sidney Fletcher.  
He was thinking along the same lines, but he was off the now closed case and couldn’t bring anyone in for questioning.  
“Oh, well, how about tea, in my parlour, perhaps Aunt P would like to discuss board matters, with Mr Fletcher?”  
“You are a scheming little minx,” he laughed.  
“Who me?” she gasped, “how could you Inspector, you wound me – see you in half an hour?”  
“Sounds about right,” he put the phone down and grinned to himself.  
“I’m out of the office for an hour or two, Collins,” he dropped his hat on his head as he passed the counter.  
“Right, sir,” Collins knew that the less he knew the better but, “here, sir,” he passed him a piece of paper, “that name you wanted.”  
Jack frowned, he hadn’t asked for a name – ah, he nodded, “thank you, Collins.”  
“Sir,” Hugh went back to his filing.

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As Jack entered the parlour, he passed the piece of paper to Phryne, who read it and stowed it inside her brassiere, for later. For now, Sidney Fletcher did not need to know they had found a connection between him and the missing girls. A tenuous connection, they still didn’t know where the girls were, or if Fletcher himself was involved – but his ship was, and therefore his company was.

“So, you see, Mr Fletcher, Miss Sanderson,” Mrs Stanley was saying, “my board is placing the best of our girls where we can, for a better life, and I wondered if we could join forces.”  
Phryne had no idea what a wonderful actress her aunt was. Mrs Stanley hated Fletcher, for the way he had put her down at the New Year’s Ball but if this would find Joan she would quote Lady Macbeth if necessary.  
“You see, Mr Fletcher,” Phryne smiled her sweetest smile, “this was found in the cabin of the Pandarus …” she didn’t elaborate how but he strongly suspected he knew … “and we wondered what a good girl like Bernadette would be doing in the Captain’s cabin.”  
“Do you think she stowed away, Phryne?” Prudence asked, “and with Joan.”  
“But why?”  
“A better life,” Phryne shrugged.  
“You need to tell the commissioner,” Rosie stood with her arms folded.  
“Look,” Fletcher stepped in, “do you think my contacts would help. I mean George said the Bernadette case was closed, accidental drowning, but if there is something else …”  
Jack was surprised that he would offer his help, and his contacts would be interesting, so he agreed and they went to his car to get his address book.  
“Given that the commissioner took Jack off the case, Miss Sanderson,” Phryne frowned, “I don’t see where that would get us.”  
“You’ve made things very bad, for Jack, Miss Fisher,” Rosie swept out.  
“Unusually devoted, for an ex-wife,” Mrs Stanley remarked, acidly.  
“Indeed,” Phryne murmured.

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“Nothing,” Jack threw the address book on the table, “ordinary merchants, that’s all, complete waste of time.”  
“Not really, Jack, it just points to Fletcher more and more, and the fact that the car is registered to his company is more of a tie.” Phryne sat opposite him and took his hand. “We need to search the ship, properly.”  
“You must stay away, Phryne,” he noticed how small and soft her hands were, “but I am going to pass this new evidence to the commissioner, he’ll have to act – now.”  
“But if he’s involved …”  
“Then if he doesn’t act he will be complicit in white slavery, if what we believe is true, and I have a separate file in my house will all the extra work in it.”  
“Sneaky.”  
“I’ve learnt from the best,” he teased, but it was half hearted. George Sanderson had mentored him when he was a young copper and he had looked up to him, until recently. How much more was a lie.  
“You must stay away, Phryne, it’s too dangerous.”  
“True, but I will take back up, I will be armed and I am an excellent shot.”  
Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to stop her and he also knew he needed her there, both those thoughts terrified him.  
“Would it help if your back up was armed, Miss?” Mr Butler put down the fork he was polishing.  
Phryne raised an eyebrow, she knew Mr Butler was a veteran and he came in useful when the not so Great Hypno had tried it on in her parlour, but – arming the red raggers?

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She didn’t ask where he got the firearms from but Cec and Bert were delighted with the choice.  
“Is there anything I can do, Miss?” Dot wanted to see the case through to the end, for Bernadette.  
“A thermos of tea would be most welcome, Dot,” Phryne smiled and squeezed her hand.

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They pulled up in sight of the Pandarus. The docks were quiet, just a few workers heading home. Phryne, Cec and Bert left Dot in the taxi, telling her to get down out of view.

The ship was in darkness as they crouched down and ran up the gangplank. They were looking for the girls, primarily, anything else was a bonus. Working together they looked around the top deck of the ship, the crew seemed to have deserted the vessel but Phryne noticed footprints in the sugar she had spilt earlier.  
“Who’s there?” she whispered.  
Sniffling from behind her had her turn and push bags and coils out of the way to reveal a young girl, crying and clearly terrified.  
“Hey,” Phryne pulled her forward, “who are you?”  
The girl blinked, “’m Joan,” she whispered, “Mrs Stanley’ll give me the sack.”  
“Mrs Stanley is very worried about you, pet,” Phryne put her arms round her shoulders, “let’s get you off this ship and home, eh?”  
“What about the others?”  
“Others?”  
“In a room, I escaped when they brought us water.”  
“Boys,” Phryne hissed, “get this one to Dot.”

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Part of Dot wished she had stayed at home, with Mrs Stanley and Aurelie and Mary. This part of her, here was terrified of being found. The door handled rattled, her heart skipped several beats.  
“Dot,” Bert hissed, “we got Joan, open up.”  
“Oh you poor dear,” Dot pulled her in and wrapped her in the blanket. “Where’s Miss Phryne?”  
The answer she got was to be pulled out of the car, with the boys and dragged unceremoniously towards the ship. Miss Phryne was nowhere in sight. But she had found the other girls, the trouble was she was now being held captive with them, bound and gagged. The door was thrown open and more bodies were pushed in, similarly trussed, the door slammed shut. She cursed behind her gag.  
She blinked and cursed again, it was the raggers and Dot.  
Through grunts and nudges she managed to get Bert to pull the dagger from her boot with the tips of his fingers. She wriggled round and he managed to cut through the rope round her wrists without slitting them, though there were a few scratches. Unbound they could now take stock of their predicament. All the girls with them were blonde and blue eyed, slim and pretty – a type, specific to what would be expected by the buyers. These girls were to be sold, ‘white gold’, Phryne was furious, keeping her temper in check was not easy.

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Back in City South Jack had shown the commissioner the charm that Phryne had found in the Captain’s cabin. He didn’t tell him how it had been found, just that it had come to light and it proved the Captain of the Pandarus had something to do with the disappearance of the girls.  
“Right, I’ll get a warrant to search it, in the morning,” George huffed, hoping to put Jack off, by the morning the Pandarus would have sailed.  
“The ship sails tonight,” Jack had that information as well.  
George swore, “Right, I’ll organise a raid.”  
Jack picked up his coat.  
“No, you stay here, you’re not on this case, if you leave the office that’s the end – for you!” He jabbed his finger at his former son in law and left the office.

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If George had been leading a raid, what was taking him so long? Jack checked the time on his watch again, it was taking too long. He must have arrived at the ship shortly after Phryne. That was hours ago – well maybe not hours, but it was long enough.  
“Collins!”  
“Sir?” Collins skidded to a halt at the office door.  
“I’m going to the ship. It’s been too long …”  
“Is the commissioner in trouble, sir?” Hugh pulled the strap of his helmet under his chin.  
“Don’t know, but Miss Fisher maybe.”

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“Quiet, sir, for a raid,” Hugh looked through the windscreen.  
“There is no damn raid!” Jack snapped and leapt out of the car. He faced Sanderson, standing there looking up the gangplank. “What are you waiting for? Where’s your back up?”  
“Jack,” George’s conciliatory tone grated on him, “this does not concern you, go home …”  
“You …” Jack couldn’t form a sentence, he turned to Hugh. “Go home Collins, there’s no need for you to lose your job, too.”  
“I’m coming too, sir,” Hugh shrugged his wet weather cape across his shoulders, “my Dottie may well be there, too, sir.”  
“Thank you, Hugh,” he started up the gangplank ahead of the young officer.  
“If you go any further, Jack!” Sanderson shouted, “you’re finished!”  
Inspector Robinson nodded from side to side and thought the joint detective agency might become a thing, after all.  
Sanderson was stuck, his only hope was that Jack died in the ‘raid’; he followed him hoping to find Fletcher before Jack and the young constable did.

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In the moonlight Jack swept the deck, taking note of the shadows, listening to the sounds, tracking fore to aft until something caught his eye.  
It was all quick, frantic. He found Phryne and a group of frightened young girls still confined in the little storage compartment and pulled them out. He saw Dot and asked her to take the girls off the ship. A couple of sailors waded in and started firing bullets around, not targeted. He pulled her out and she quickly explained what the girls had told her. Across the deck a sailor took on Hugh but hadn’t reckoned with another woman and her handbag as Dot swung and knocked him over the side.  
George caught up with Jack and tried to talk him down.  
“You,” Jack jabbed his finger into his chest, “are not fit to set foot in my station! Get out of my sight or by all that’s holy I’ll arrest you and charge you with kidnap and perverting the course of justice! And that’s just for starters!”  
“Jack,” George warned.  
“Collins, handcuff the commissioner to that mast, now!”  
“Sir!” Hugh slapped the handcuffs on Sanderson’s wrists and left him there, he felt strangely content about it.  
“Let’s get the ladies out of here, and somewhere warm and comfortable,” Jack held out his hand to Phryne. A bullet pinged off the edge of the cabin, just behind Phryne’s ear. She squeaked and he pulled her down, covering her with his body.  
“Stupid, interfering bitch!”  
“Fletcher,” Jack hissed, “are you alright?”  
“A bit squashed,” she gasped, “but he missed.”  
“Sorry,” he shifted enough to allow her to move.  
In the dark, Fletcher had lost sight of his prey and he was so angry that he wasn’t being particularly careful as he stumbled about the deck. He lurched past them, Jack put his finger over Phryne’s mouth, they needed space. He motioned her to go round the other side of the cabin by pushing her gently. He was going to go the other way and they would form a pincer movement.  
“Stay here,” he whispered to the girls.  
Phryne watched the shadows, followed him to the steps up to the railing. In the moonlight she ran towards him and grabbed at his foot, he kicked her away, she grabbed again but he pulled his foot out of his shoe and ran up to stand above her, aiming between her eyes. Time seemed to stand still then a shot rang out; Fletcher stood wide eyed then fell backwards into the water.  
“Phryne,” Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her close, propriety be damned.  
“I’m alright,” she breathed, not wanting to leave the warm and safe circle of his arms. “Is he …?”  
“Nah, I just winged him …”  
“Shall we pull him out, sir?” Hugh appeared beside them.  
“I suppose we’ll have to,” he hummed, “let’s get the girls off the ship first, and Sanderson.”

As Phryne waved Sanderson forward with her little golden gun, retrieved from the cabin, she heard a sniffling from under a pile of sacks. She called Dot over, handed her the gun and lifted the sacks to reveal a grubby little boy, cowering in the corner.  
“Hello, lad,” she smiled, “what are you doing here? Not a stowaway, I hope?”  
He gulped and shook his head, “N … no, Miss,” he wiped his nose on his sleeve, “I’m one of the crew, well that’s what the orphanage sent me to do, Cabin boy.”  
“This ship isn’t going anywhere, lad,” Phryne pulled him up, noting he was about twelve or thirteen, “what’s your name?”  
“Johnny, Miss.”  
“Phryne Fisher, pleased to meet you, Johnny. And which of this city’s fine establishments do you come from?” She tipped his face up so she could get a better look. He was scrawny, scruffy, and had grey eyes. His hair was of an indeterminate grubby brown colour. He needed a bath, a decent meal and a good sleep.  
“St Vincents, Miss,” he sniffed again.  
“Come on, son,” she couldn’t leave him there, they would just have to find out who left him at the orphanage in the first place and see if he could be placed somewhere kinder.

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Johnny trailed along with Phryne, he hadn’t liked being on the ship, the orphanage had only sent him because he always said he wanted to see the world.  
“Where’re we goin’ Miss?” he tugged her sleeve.  
“The girls are going to a refuge for the night, the men are going to the police station and I an taking you to St Vincents …”  
“They won’t take me back, Miss,” he sniffed.  
“I know, I just need to find all your details and we’ll see if we can find somewhere nicer for you to stay.”  
“But it’s the middle of the night.”  
She just shrugged, “I didn’t say immediately, you may have to stay with me for a few days …”  
“You can do that?” he gasped.  
“I did it once before, with a girl who was being abused, but she stayed with me, as my ward.” She stopped and crouched down in front of him, “Johnny, I will make sure you are safe, finish your education …”  
He pouted.  
“Yes, I know, school, but, how old are you?”  
“Thirteen this year, Miss, in March.”  
“I see St Vincent’s lets you know your birthdate then?”  
“Yes, Miss.”  
“So, a few more years at school, just until you find out what you want to do with your life …”  
“Will that be better?”  
“Much, you will go much further with a good education.”

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With the girls left at a refuge, Sanderson and a dripping wet Fletcher deposited at City South, where Rosie was waiting, assuming her father would be there after he had seen Jack earlier that evening, it was left to Phryne and Johnny to go and wake the nuns at St Vincents and find out who he belonged to. Wherever his new home was going to be they would have to know his birth details, who left him at the orphanage and why. Phryne assumed the mother had either been deserted, was unmarried, or given his year of birth – 1917 – been widowed in the war, and therefore was unable to care for a new born.  
The nun who answered the door was none too happy to be woken, they got little enough sleep with early prayers and looking after a hundred or so boys.  
“Johnny Robinson,” she huffed, “I thought you were sailing the ocean blue.”  
“Robinson, eh?” Phryne smiled, “well, sister, sorry to wake you, but Young Master Robinson here was found during a police raid on a ship that was taking young girls against their wills. Johnny has no part in the investigation.”  
“Good Lord!” the sister stood aside to let them in, “we were told he would have a life of adventure, as the Cabin Boy to Captain De Vere. Heaven preserve us, lad, are you alright?”  
“I’m ok, Sister Aloysius,” he sighed, “Miss Fisher found me, says she’ll find somewhere safe for me.”  
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you, the Honourable Miss Fisher, niece of Mrs Stanley, she’s on our board.” Sister Aloysius led them to an office, “I hope you can find somewhere for him, Miss, he’s a little scamp, but good hearted.”  
“I am prepared for him to stay for a few days, while I find a suitable home for him, as you have given him up …”  
“Given him up? Ah I see what you mean, well it is true we don’t usually take them back. What do you want to know? I assume that’s why you are here and haven’t just taken him straight to your home?”  
“Yes, I thought it would be easier if I knew where he came from, his background.”  
Sister Aloysius leaved through a drawer of files and found his. “Here’s his birth certificate, apparently his mother was widowed in the war, her husband killed at Poziéres. Reasonably well off …” she read through the notes taken when Johnny was handed over.  
Phryne read the certificate and scowled: John Robinson, born twenty seventh March 1917, mother Rosie Robinson, neé Sanderson, father, Jack Robinson. Father’s occupation: Constable and soldier.  
How the hell was she to tell Jack that his only child was born while he was away fighting for King and Country and given away by his selfish wife, who could have easily found help – she had family, a sister at least, she was angry, Jack would be incandescent. Obviously Rosie had never told him she had been pregnant, just, when he left for France.  
“Thank you, Sister, I know Johnny’s father, he will be so pleased to find he has a son.”  
“But, according to the notes the mother said he was killed, in France.” Sister Aloysius gasped, “you mean …”  
“I do, Sister. Johnny’s father is a good man, a fine upstanding member of the Victorian Constabulary. I believe he has been lied to, in the worst possible way.” Phryne stood up, “come on Johnny, I have someone I want you to meet.”  
“Miss?” he looked at her, “do you really know my father?”  
“I do, you saw him tonight,” she put her hand on his shoulder, “the man who shot Fletcher and sent him over the side of the ship.”  
Johnny’s eyes were wide with wonder and awe, his father was a hero! He’d saved all those girls and Miss Fisher’s life.  
“Wow!” he breathed.  
“He shot someone?” Sister Aloysius didn’t share the boy’s worship.  
“It’s alright, sister,” Phryne smiled, “the man he shot was about to shoot me and was the one finding the girls to take out of the country and sell – white slaver, Sister Aloysius, it’s all too terrible.”  
Sister Aloysius crossed herself and offered up a quick prayer for all the girls saved that night.

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Phryne didn’t have any idea how she was going to tell Jack that Rosie had lied, in all probability hadn’t wanted children. That night when they had told each other their stories she had seen the sadness in his eyes when he said they hadn’t been blessed with children, and it explained his kindness to Aurelie. Johnny would take time to settle but he and Jack would find a way to be father and son, if she could help, she would.  
She wasn’t sure if she should take Johnny to the station to meet Jack but the decision was taken out of her hands when the boy asked to see where his father worked.

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When she walked into the station Rosie was screaming at Jack.  
“Why couldn’t you just leave things alone!” She spat in his face, “if you’d have left it that that stupid girl had drowned by accident none of this would have come to light!”  
“You approve?” he gasped, “you approve of your father and fiancé selling girls to men who will use and abuse them, then when they’ve had enough, or they grow too old, just toss them out on the streets like garbage … Rosie!”  
“For God’s sake, Jack, what life are they going to have here, most of them are orphans or born to whores …? They have the chance of marriage out there!”  
“How damn naïve can you be?” he threw his hands up in despair, “those men, where they are to be sold don’t practice monogamy, it is a polygamous society where a white, blonde woman is a prized possession in a harem. Dear God! Are you that …?”  
“Jack,” Phryne stopped him before he asked her if she was that ‘stupid’. “Jack, there’s someone here you need to meet,” her voice was low and calm as she pulled Johnny forward.  
“Phryne, Miss Fisher!” he was getting more and more infuriated and being introduced to another waif that she planned to foster was not something he wanted to know about, not now anyway. “Sorry, Miss Fisher,” he sighed, “can we discuss this later, perhaps, at Wardlow – please?”  
Johnny pulled her hand, “Come on, Miss Fisher,” he smiled, “I think he’s a bit busy at the moment, another hour won’t make much difference, will it?”  
“Perhaps you’re right, Johnny,” she hummed, “he is rather busy at the moment.”

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“He is a good man, Johnny,” she hailed a passing taxi.  
“Hey, Miss Fisher, I think he has a lot to think about at the moment, he was concerned about those girls. Is it right, what he said about them, that they would be thrown out on the streets when the men were fed up with them?”  
“Sadly, yes,” she gave the address to the driver, “that does happen in other parts of the world where women are more valued for having children than being clever or educated.”  
Johnny whistled, “glad I didn’t go with them, then, Miss.”  
“So am I, Johnny, so am I,” she didn’t add that bad things happen to little boys sometimes, too. Especially good-looking ones, like him.

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Wardlow was quiet when they entered.  
“Ah, Miss Fisher,” Mr Butler smiled, then frowned at the ragamuffin beside her, “your aunt has gone home, Miss Mary has had a little boy and is sleeping in the rear parlour, and Miss Williams has returned from the refuge. Cec and Bert are in the kitchen.”  
“So, Mary has a boy, does she?” Phryne pulled off her beret and ran her hands through her hair, “and what name does the little chap go under?”  
“Edward, Teddy to family, apparently,” Mr Butler nodded.  
“Ah,” she nodded, “after Uncle Edward for a guess. Well, Mr Butler, this here is Johnny – Johnny needs a bath, something to wear for the night until I can get him some better togs and I bet he’d like something to eat, too.”  
“Starving, Miss,” Johnny readily agreed.  
“Well, Miss,” Mr Butler frowned, “I suppose a small shirt and robe would do for now, and there is a casserole in the oven; do we expect the Inspector?”  
“I hope he will be over, Mr Butler, I do need to talk to him, but the case has turned out to be more disturbing than we imagined.”  
She took Johnny upstairs and set the bath running. “Plenty of towels for you, soap and shampoo, your hair needs washing; I’ll go and rustle up a shirt and robe, they’ll be a bit big …”  
“S’ok, Miss,” he smiled, “nobody’s coming visitin’ are they?”  
“No, Johnny, they aren’t,” she grinned, and ruffled his hair.  
“Miss Fisher,” Mr Butler appeared out of the ether, he had a tendency to do that, she thought, “this is one of mine, and the robe, it’ll be down to his feet, I’m afraid, but …”  
“It’s that or one of my nightgowns, and I think that’s pushing it, don’t you?”  
“Indeed, Miss,” he bowed his little bow and left her to slip the clothes into the bathroom.   
“Come downstairs when you’re done, Johnny, turn right at the bottom of the stairs and follow your nose.”  
“Right-oh!”

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Johnny soaped himself well with the sponge and slipped under the water to wash his hair. It was nice to be looked after for a change, being one of the eldest in the orphanage he had taken the little ones under his wing when they arrived, shown them what was what and who to avoid. They’d been kind to him, both places, but then he was a new-born when he was left there and it was all he had known. The nuns used to say that whoever his parents were, they must have been good people to have passed good manners in his blood. Truth was, he had learned very early that if you did as you were told life was a lot easier. Not that he was a saint, he was forever climbing trees, day dreaming during mass, or putting worms in other children’s pockets, but he wasn’t a bad child.

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Phryne checked on Mary and looked in the makeshift crib that had been fashioned out of a laundry basket. Little Teddy was bigger, she thought, than Aurelie had been, red, well that was to be expected, but all things considered he was the usual squashed up little human. That was the first thing she remembered about her own daughter when they placed her in her arms, then Aurelie had opened her violet blue eyes and that was when she was sunk. The eyes had turned nearer to her green, but they were still the eyes that could break her heart sometimes.  
Mary stirred and opened her eyes.  
“Miss,” she murmured.  
“How are you, Mary?” Phryne sat on the side of the couch that was serving as her bed.  
“Tired, sore, but ok, I guess. Mrs Stanley says she will have a place for me, in her kitchen, when I’m recovered.” Mary giggled softly. “I got scared, I thought the nuns were going to take him away but she said they wouldn’t and that god wouldn’t punish me ‘cos he’d have her to deal with if he did.”  
Phryne laughed softly, “Well, I think in that case, my aunt would win. Get some rest, there will be some noises, moving about for a while, but we’ll try not to make too much noise.”  
“Thanks, Miss Fisher,” Mary yawned, “for everything.”  
“You’re welcome, Mary.”

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They were in the kitchen eating the casserole, Phryne had a glass of wine with hers but Johnny, now clean and wrapped in Mr Butler’s much too large dressing gown, had milk and was wiping his plate with a piece of bread, when Jack arrived. He had decided on not waking the household with a knock at the front door, but, as there were lights on Mr Butler at least would be up, and chances were that so would Phryne. She looked up and smiled. She and Johnny had decided she would tell his story and that he was not to worry if the Inspector was cross, or angry, or even if he didn’t believe her. It was a lot to take in, even for an adult.  
“And he’s had a night of it, Miss,” Johnny nodded.  
“You both have a lot of adjusting to do …”  
“D’ye think he’ll want me?” the boy frowned and Phryne thought she saw a hint of a tremble in his bottom lip.  
“I’m sure of it,” Phryne nodded, “and if he doesn’t you can stay here.” Phryne thought that if Jack rejected his son then she would reject him.  
“Really?” he gasped.  
“Really, I have an adopted daughter a little older than you, and a nearly six year old daughter, that is mine.” At this rate she’d run out of guest bedrooms but there was always the Windsor Hotel if anyone came to stay.  
“Wow!” he whistled.

“Hello, Jack,” she went to him and took his hand, so much easier with these little touches now.  
“Phryne,” he couldn’t resist resting his forehead against hers and breathing the remnants of the perfume she had worn that day. It grounded him, helped him remember that there were more good people in this world than bad. He thought he had seen the worst of humanity in the war, this evening he wondered if his ex-wife, her new fiancé and her father were even worse than that. They came a close second if they weren’t. So here he was, ready to apologise to Phryne for his rudeness earlier, and to meet whoever it was she seemed most insistent he know. “I’m sorry, for being rude, earlier.”  
“No worries, Jack,” she kissed his cheek, “come and have something to eat and drink, we’ll talk shortly.”  
Mr Butler put out a bowl of the casserole, thick with beef, vegetables and potatoes. He pushed a glass of the robust red wine Phryne was drinking in front of him then left them to their meal and conversation.  
Jack nodded at the boy he vaguely recognised from the station, when she had tried to talk to him, now bathed and wearing a ridiculously oversized robe, but not in the least concerned about his strange apparel. The boy finished his meal and took the bowl to the sink. He washed it up and left it to drain then excused himself to go and get the piece of paper that they had to show the Inspector, the proof of who he was. It had been decided that the Inspector should eat, first, such news should not be delivered on an empty stomach.  
“Another waif, Miss Fisher?” he pushed away the empty bowl and took a mouthful of the red wine.  
She tipped her head from side to side and shrugged, that was to be decided – by him.  
“Miss,” Johnny passed her his birth certificate and sat next to her.  
“Thank you, Johnny, and thank you for washing up your bowl,” she smiled.  
“Can I do yours, Inspector?” he smiled, “it’s no trouble, unless you want some more.”  
“Thank you, Johnny, is it?”  
“It is sir,” he nodded.  
“I have had quite enough, Mr Butler knows how to feed us, doesn’t he?”  
“It was very tasty,” Johnny agreed, and took Jack’s bowl to the sink, washed it and left it draining with his.  
“Now, Miss Fisher,” he turned away from the boy, “you wanted me to meet Johnny?”  
She pushed the certificate in front of him and reached for one of his hands.  
“But,” he ran his hands through his hair, “is it true, she never said … in her letters … her father never said anything when I came home … Phryne, why?”  
“I don’t know, Jack, all we know is that she claimed you had died at Poziéres,” she moved round to his side and rubbed his shoulders, “maybe she felt she couldn’t raise a child alone.”  
“But she didn’t say anything, when I came home …” he pushed his chair back and stood up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “so, Johnny, you are my son?”  
Johnny nodded, desperate to be liked. The Inspector was obviously a very caring person, he was upset, angry.  
“Jeez, Phryne!” he didn’t usually curse in front of her, though he was sure she could out do him in curses from around the world, “why would she do this?”  
“Johnny,” he knelt in front of the boy, “I’m sorry, so very sorry, for missing you growing up …” there were tears in his eyes.  
“Hey, Inspector, you believe her?” Johnny gasped.  
“Miss Fisher would never tell me something like this without it being the truth, without checking her facts first. I trust her … with my life, and with yours.”  
Phryne could barely keep from crying at his declaration, that his trust ran so deep after less than a year.  
“Can I call you pa?” Johnny sniffed, “or … dad?”  
“Son, you can call me either, either will be just perfect.”  
Johnny wrapped his arms round Jack’s neck and sobbed, “they said you were a soldier and died, so you must have been a hero, that’s what the nuns said. I saw you, tonight, with them girls and saving Miss Fisher, I knew you were brave.”  
“What were you doing on that ship, Johnny?”  
“I was the Cabin Boy,” Johnny pulled back, “the nuns thought it would be good for me, I wanted to see the world. It’s not their fault.”  
“They didn’t hurt you, did they?”  
“No, I’d only been there a few days, making the Captain’s tea and such, keepin’ his cabin tidy,” he shrugged.  
Jack sighed, if this had been a regular, above board ship’s company, Johnny would be half way to the Middle East by now, and they would never have met, he would never have known his son. But he had to confront Rosie about this, about how she had rejected their son, when she knew he was still alive, still fighting in that hell whole in France. And when he came back, she never even intimated she had been pregnant, had had their child, when it was what they were trying for when he enlisted. Rosie could be stiff, but he never believed she could be so cold, so unfeeling. But he had seen her, this night, telling him that if he hadn’t interfered, they would have been able to carry on making money from selling girls to the highest bidder – he didn’t hate her, hate wasn’t strong enough a word. But, to the here and now:  
“Phryne,” he stood up, “is there anyway Johnny can stay here? I hate to ask, but I don’t have anywhere for him to sleep, Rosie took so much of the furniture I only have the one bed and no couch …” he blushed.  
“You can both stay here, Jack,” she touched his arm, “Johnny, you remember where I said you can sleep?”  
“Yes, Miss,” he yawned, the late night and all that had happened was beginning to tell on him.  
“Off to bed with you,” she smiled, “sleep well.”  
“You too, Miss,” he grinned. “Pa.”  
Jack gave him another hug and wished him sweet dreams.

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They sat in the parlour; the whisky was poured but neither of them was drinking. Jack was still having trouble getting his head around the fact that his ex-wife, while still his wife, had not told him she was expecting their child and had promptly delivered him to an orphanage and told them his father was dead. No notice of his demise had been written or sent, and he had written regularly, so why?  
“Jack?” Phryne crossed the room and sat next to him on the couch, “are you alright?” Silly question, it was obvious to a blind man he was not ‘alright’.  
“Why,” he croaked, “why did she do this? There is her sister she would have helped, George wanted a grandson … why did she abandon our son, my son?”  
“I don’t know,” she put her hand between his shoulder blades, “only she can tell you that, but not now, not tonight. Tonight you are going to go to bed, here, sleep and take those steps in the morning.” She stood up and held out her hand. He let her pull him up and propel him to her bedroom.  
“Phryne?” he pulled back as she threw open the door.  
“Sleep, Jack, that’s all I offer … that and the fact that I have run out of bedrooms.” She pushed him in.  
“Uh,” he looked around, the room was richly decorated, warm colours, a comfortable bed with a thick quilt, fur runner and deep pillows. His will to decline was rapidly leaving. There was a pair of striped cotton pyjamas folded on the bottom of the bed, Mr Butler’s he assumed, and Phryne’s silk pyjamas were laid out on the pillow.

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He came out of her bathroom, his hair flopped over his forehead, the pyjamas were soft and comfortable and just what he needed. Phryne was already in bed having used the guest bathroom. Her face was devoid of makeup, pale against the dark cap of her hair, and she was reading a book. So normal, so ordinary but he still felt it was dangerous – to spend the night in her bed – with her.  
“Come on, Inspector,” she flung back the covers from the opposite side of the bed, “you need some sleep and so do I.”  
Reluctantly he moved around the bed and slipped in under the covers. He lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Phryne put her book down, turned off the bedside light and slipped down under the covers.  
“Night, Jack,” she sighed, turned her back on him and closed her eyes, hoping he would relax and understand that she wasn’t intent on seducing him, not this time, this night when so much had happened.  
She was adept at feigning sleep, it had been useful if she was tired after modelling for Pierre, all those years ago, a rest from René’s demands. She listened to his broken breathing, the hitches as he tried to control his tears, tried not to wake her and her heart shattered at his pain. She turned over and pulled his head onto her breast, stroked his head and told him she understood, that it was alright to be upset, to be scared, confused, she soothed him as if he were a child. His tears soaked her pyjama top, until he finally fell asleep, exhausted … defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prizes for guessing I didn't like Rosie.


	12. Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case continues and Phryne comes to realise something she thought would never happen.

I am not apologising for the bombshell at the end of the last chapter, it was something that was running around in my brain while I was writing it, so, rather than begin another story (I have too many started) I thought it might weave into this one.

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Sometime during the night Jack and turned over and they lay back to back. He woke at his usual time, six o’clock, or thereabouts, and for a moment wondered where he was. The bed was warm and comfortable and there was someone else in the room, he could tell from the snuffles and breathing behind him. He blinked, then remembered, he was at Wardlow, in Phryne’s bedroom, in her bed! He debated staying where he was, for another half hour, but so much had happened the previous night, he had so much to do and … was it a dream? He had a son? A son his ex-wife had abandoned at birth and told the orphanage her husband had been killed. He had no idea how he would keep his calm when he confronted her about it. Johnny would have been three, just about, when he returned, couldn’t her sister, Clemmie, have helped? Did Clemmie know? He had seen her since he had come back, even since the divorce when Rosie had come over to the house to collect the rest of her things.  
He tried not to wake Phryne as he sat up and decided he had better get dressed, if he could find his clothes, and head out to the station to begin the long process of paperwork, charges and searches. He would have to search the Sanderson and Fletcher homes for evidence and he still wanted to know why Commissioner Hall had resigned – it seemed even stranger in light of what had transpired over the last thirty six hours. In fact, it was downright suspicious.  
She turned over and opened one bleary eye.  
“Jack?”  
“Things to do,” he murmured and rubbed his face. “Go back to sleep.”  
She sat up, she wasn’t letting him start this day with her content to sleep as he headed to deal with Rosie. That conversation would be heated, he was angry, he would be for a while, but she knew he wouldn’t take that anger out on her, or Johnny.  
“You need breakfast, first,” she slipped out of bed even if she did think it was still the middle of the night, “Mr Butler will be creating in the kitchen …”  
“I need clean clothes, they’re at my place …”  
“How about this,” she grabbed her robe, “give me your house keys, I’ll have him go and get what you need, while you have a bath – at least you know he won’t snoop.” She gave him a little smile. “It’s going to be a difficult day, Jack, you need to start it properly and not go rushing around finding clean shirts.”  
“Bedroom’s at the back, left off the hall,” he shrugged, there were too many battles to fight this day, he could do without adding to them, “here,” he handed over his house keys, “7 Bell Street.”  
“Richmond, yes?”  
He nodded.

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Mr Butler noticed the twitching of the neighbours’ curtains as he pulled up outside number seven in the Hispano-Suiza. He made a show of taking a small holdall from the car and letting himself into the neat bungalow. He took his time selecting two clean shirts, undergarments, tie and the Inspector’s shaving gear, before leaving, locking up the front door and driving away. By then the curtains were open and at least two sets of women were whispering over their fences.   
“Imagine,” he said to himself, “imagine if it had been Miss Fisher instead of me,” he allowed himself a small, cheeky smile. He threw the holdall in the back of the car and drove off, unnecessarily slowly, until he was out of sight if the gossips.

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When Mr Butler returned Jack had bathed and was wearing the robe he had kindly lent him. He had poked his head into the room where Johnny slept, still slept, almost relieved to see it wasn’t a dream he had had, there really was a boy, a boy who was his son, he hadn’t imagined it.  
“Hey,” Phryne crept up behind him and whispered in his ear, “he’s a lot like you.”  
He turned round, “D’ye really think so?” he hummed, “I thought it was a dream … but I really am a father.”  
“You are, and you’ll be a fine one too, I know it,” she kissed his cheek, “Mr Butler is back, he set the curtains twitching apparently.” She gave a wicked grin.  
“No surprises there,” he shrugged, “thank you, Phryne …”  
“You don’t need domestic things to worry about when you have all that dreadful paperwork to deal with,” she pulled him back to the bedroom, “you can get dressed, shave and then breakfast will be waiting for you in the dining room.”  
“Phryne, I’ll be fine, I usually have something once I get to work,” he blushed, “there’s no need to fuss, really.”  
“Huh,” she shook her head, “I told you Mr B already has the bacon on, and the coffee … while you eat you can tell me what you would like me to do, today, for you or for the case – and no putting me off, Jack Robinson,” she teased, “I can see to finding some proper clothes for Johnny, if you’d like, and see about getting a bed for your place, though you can both stay here as long as you want …”  
“Aren’t you running out of rooms?” he frowned.  
“We managed alright, last night, didn’t we?” she laughed.  
He declined to answer, it was dangerous territory, so he just went to get dressed and resign himself to letting Phryne do what she would do, and in this case, it was probably to clothe his son in some finery, but at least he knew the boy would be in safe hands.

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Dot had been apprised of the situation regarding extra guests by Mr Butler, so she was not surprised to see Jack enter Phryne’s bedroom in order to finish his morning routine. She had laid out underwear and an outfit for Phryne and was on her way out, the next job on her list was to see how Mary was, in the rear parlour, when he stepped in.  
“Good morning, Inspector,” she smiled, trying not to appear as worried as she was, that he was in her mistress’ bedroom and had slept there, too.  
“Miss Williams,” he in turn tried not to blush at what was probably going through her mind, but his conscience was clear.  
“Mr Butler would like to know if you prefer tea or coffee with your breakfast.”  
“Oh, er, coffee, please,” he blushed, “I’ll drink enough tea to float a battleship today.”  
“Yes sir,” she smiled as she left him, Hugh kept telling her the station ran on tea.

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To avoid embarrassing Jack, Phryne opted to use the family bathroom Aurelie and Mary usually used. As soon as he had finished in her room she could dress and meet him in the dining room, it was going to be a long day, she would need coffee, at the very least, and Mr Butler did make a good strong brew. She needed to tell Aurelie that Uncle Inspector was around, get Johnny up to say ‘good morning’ to his father … she listed her tasks for the day in her head as she cleaned her teeth and swiftly showered, she needed to call her Aunt about when Mary could be taken to her house, two Marys in the house was going to get confusing and everyone would be very busy so the new mother wouldn’t get as much attention as she should have.  
Aurelie, predictably, was excited that Uncle Inspector was there for breakfast and was up and out of bed in no time. She didn’t usually dress for breakfast so she was allowed to go down in her robe and greet him with her customary enthusiasm.  
“Just before you assault the poor man,” Phryne caught her at the top of the stairs, “he is very tired from a big case last night, and there is also a boy in the house, Johnny, he is the Inspector’s little boy and they’ve only just found each other, so, be kind and don’t ask too many questions, Miss, got it?”  
“Where has Johnny been, maman?” Aurelie was wide eyed, the only other boy she knew was Sammy.  
“We’ll explain more when we can, love, just be kind, I know you can do that, can’t you?”  
“Oh yes, maman, why is the Inspector here so early, he doesn’t usually have breakfast here?”  
“It was late, Johnny was here so he stayed over, and keep out of the back parlour, there is a new baby in there … we’ve had a busy time, Aurelie, not too many questions, we’ll tell you what you need to know soon, ok?”  
Aurelie nodded, there were lots of times her maman couldn’t tell her everything about the work she did with Uncle Inspector, but she always told her something that appeased her inquisitive nature.

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“Johnny,” Phryne gently shook the boy’s shoulders, “Johnny, there’s breakfast downstairs, your father has to go to work so if you want to see him before he does, hop to it.”  
Johnny blinked and rubbed his eyes, he’d had the best night’s sleep ever, lovely dreams of family and friends and slightly disturbing ones of people shouting and young girls being taken onto ships.  
“Miss Fisher?” he sat up.  
“Good morning, Johnny, sleep well?” She handed him the robe he had worn the previous night.  
“Like a top, Miss,” he gave a sleepy grin, “did you say something about breakfast … and pa?”  
“Indeed I did, my daughter, Aurelie, is down there too, she calls your pa ‘Uncle Inspector’ don’t ask why, and don’t laugh.” She warned.  
“Gotcha,” he grinned, now fully awake.

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Aurelie had greeted Jack with her usual joie de vivre and was sitting to one side of him tucking into a bowl of porridge and honey when Johnny stepped into the dining room.  
Jack looked up and smiled, in the daylight and with clearer eyes he could see nothing of his ex-wife in him. He had his colouring, the same grey eyes that looked at him from his shaving mirror each morning and a quiet about him that his mother used to tease him about when he was the same age.  
“Johnny,” he patted the seat on the other side of him from Aurelie, “good morning, son, did you sleep well?”  
“Like a top, pa,” Johnny slipped onto the chair and looked at him, wondering if he …  
Jack pulled him into a hug, he had thirteen years of hugs to give the boy and he was not going to miss an opportunity.  
“Master Johnny,” Mr Butler materialised and made him jump, “what would you like? Miss Aurelie has porridge, there is bacon, eggs …” he poured him a glass of orange juice.  
He looked at Aurelie’s porridge then at his father’s bacon and egg and decided the latter would be a good way to start the day, porridge reminded him of the thin oatmeal he had had in the orphanage, it was only thin so it would go round.  
“Mr Butler has a tendency to appear just when you need him,” Jack whispered, “you get used to it. This,” he jerked his finger to his right, “this is Miss Aurelie, Johnny, Miss Fisher’s little girl; Miss Aurelie, this is my son, Johnny.”  
“Hello, Johnny,” she smiled, “it’s nice to meet you.”  
“Nice to meet you too, Miss Aurelie,” Johnny swallowed, “your mum has been very kind to me, you are a lucky girl.”  
“We’re all pretty lucky to have Miss Fisher in our lives,” Jack agreed, ignoring the times she had trampled over his crime scenes, because she usually had some nuance of information, a little nugget of detail that would lead them to finding the miscreant, the criminal, and ignoring the times she ‘forgot’ to tell him what she had planned, generally getting herself into a bit of bother, but all things considered they were lucky to have her in their sphere.  
Phryne had been just about to enter the room when she heard the conversation, eavesdropping on friends was not really something she liked doing, but she couldn’t resist when she saw Jack hug Johnny and had pulled out of sight just for a moment or two. She swallowed and blinked away a silly tear before entering and sitting opposite the threesome.  
“Morning all, again,” she poured some coffee and accepted the lightly scrambled eggs that Mr Butler deemed a perfect early breakfast for his mistress. “Thank you, Mr B.”  
“Miss,” he withdrew to the other side of the table and placed bacon and eggs in front of Johnny.  
“Thank you,” the boy grinned and tucked in with no hesitation.  
“Seems he has his father’s appetite,” Phryne teased.  
Jack blushed.  
“You like your grub, pa?” Johnny asked, careful not to have his mouth full as he spoke.  
“Never knowingly turned down a meal, have you, Jack?”  
“It would be rude, Miss Fisher,” he tipped his head, “after all the work that goes into preparing and cooking the food.”  
“It would.” She would take a lunch hamper down today, maybe with Johnny, after all, Jack was unlikely to get time for lunch.  
Mr Butler reappeared with a rack of fresh toast and removed Jack’s empty plate. He had already started on the lunch hamper Miss Fisher would undoubtably need for the Inspector and was considering what he should set out for dinner, when there was a rapid knock at the front door.  
“That’ll be Aunt P,” Phryne hummed, “come to see Mary and the baby, I expect.”  
“Can I go and see the baby, maman?” Aurelie had finished her porridge, “what’s his name?”  
“His name is Teddy … mornin’ Aunt Prudence and I suppose you may, if Aunt Prudence allows it.”  
“May I Aunt Prudence, see the baby, please?” she fluttered her eyelashes and gazed up at her. “I’ll be very quiet.”  
“Good morning, Phryne, Inspector,” she raised her eyebrows, “Aurelie, darling child, if you promise not to make him jump.”  
“Good morning, Mrs Stanley,” Jack smiled, trying to look as if he had breakfast with Phryne every morning, “may I present my son, Johnny?” He had seen the quizzical look on the society matron’s face and thought it only right he should introduce him, and he wanted to introduce him to someone. “Johnny, this is Mrs Prudence Stanley, Miss Fisher’s aunt.”  
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs Stanley,” Johnny stood up and went to shake her hand. “’scuse the outfit, my togs need sortin’.”  
Prudence cleared her throat and took the hand, noting that despite his irregular dress he was clean and obviously well mannered – but she was unaware the Inspector had a son, she was under the impression he and his ‘unusually devoted’ ex-wife were childless – or was this not Rosie’s child?  
“Er, pleased to meet you, Johnny, I’m sure,” she hummed. “Phryne, how is Mary this morning?”  
“Sorry, Aunt P, I haven’t been in yet, but Dot has,” Phryne sighed, so much to do, she needed to split herself into several pieces or find something that enabled her to be in three places at once.   
“Phryne,” Mrs Stanley huffed.  
“Aunt P,” Phryne stood up and pulled her into the parlour. “Last night was dreadful, Fletcher and Sanderson were taking the girls, the good girls from the laundry and other places they had contacts with and sending them overseas, to the Middle East – white slavery, Aunt P!” she hissed, “I can’t tell you how awful it was, and Rosie knew all about it, she approved!”  
“And Johnny, where did he come from? I thought the Inspector and his wife didn’t have children.”  
“So did Jack, Rosie handed him over the St Vincent’s when he was born, he was hiding on the ship when we raided it …”  
“You raided it!” Prudence sat down suddenly.  
Phryne waved that away,” … he was hiding, apparently he had been taken on as Cabin Boy …”  
“… sounds positively piratical, who was the Captain? Long John Silver …?”  
Phryne scowled at her interruption, “… quite, I took him back to St Vincent’s and the nun gave me his birth certificate, I said I’d find him somewhere nicer as they don’t take them back, though she may have done in this case. Anyway, the birth certificate …” she went over to the bureau where all documents were kept, “… here, states his mother is Rosie Robinson, neé Sanderson and his father is Jack Robinson, constable and soldier. She told the orphanage Johnny’s father was killed at Poziéres and … well I guess she couldn’t cope, or didn’t want him. We haven’t told him that, or told him who his mother is, but he and Jack stayed here last night … Jack’s exhausted and Rosie took so much furniture he doesn’t have a bed for Johnny.”  
“I never liked that woman,” Mrs Stanley straightened her shoulders, “you are so kind Phryne, you must have a full house. I see why you haven’t been to Mary yet. Now, what is to happen today?”  
“Lots,” Phryne shrugged, “Johnny needs clothes, Jack needs a bed for him, but Jack has to interview Sanderson, Fletcher and co, he also, I know, will want to confront Rosie about Johnny – isn’t he like his father? – I expect he will have to search the houses …”  
“Well, dear girl,” Prudence stood up, “the doctor said that if we are careful, Mary can be moved to a hospital but I thought my house would be better. After all she is going to be my new kitchen maid.”  
“Oh Aunt P, that is so generous of you, but what about Joan?”  
“Oh, I think we can stand two more maids,” she shrugged.  
“Bless you, Aunt P,” Phryne kissed her cheek, “now, shall I send in some tea for you and Mary?”  
“That would be lovely, dear,” Mrs Stanley smiled and headed into the rear parlour.

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Mary looked up and smiled as Mrs Stanley entered the rear parlour. Baby Teddy was clean and fed, and asleep in her arms and she was no longer afraid he was going to be taken away from her. Dot had been in and helped her wash, changed Teddy and brought her breakfast, now here was her benefactor, a woman she would previously have run from until she found that Mrs Stanley was a woman with a heart full of goodness and generosity.  
“Good morning, Mary,” Prudence sat on the edge of the makeshift couch, “how are you?”  
“All things considered, ma’am,” Mary smiled, “I’m doin’ pretty well. Miss Williams has been in and helped me this morning, and Teddy is very well behaved.”  
“Well, my dear,” Prudence looked up as Dot brought in a tray of tea, “as you know, as the doctor told you, you should be in bed for two weeks, then taking it easy for another two weeks.”  
“I’ve never been that lazy, Mrs Stanley,” Mary frowned, “I mean, I didn’t like the work at the laundry, but I did it, it was my cheek, my backchat that got me into trouble, you ask Perpetua.”  
“Oh, I believe you,” Prudence smiled, “from what my niece told me, you were quite opinionated.”  
“Well, changing my name because of what the factory foreman did, anyone would think it was my fault, that I led him on, but believe me, I have much better taste in men than him.” Mary huffed.  
“Well, if you want to accept my offer of a place on my staff I don’t expect any cheek, Missy,” Mrs Stanley folded her hands in her lap, “you will be well treated, but I expect you to work, do as you are told and you and Teddy will have a home for as long as you want, or need, it.”  
“It’s very kind of you, Mrs Stanley, I’ll try to behave.” Mary sighed, “so will Teddy, when he’s old enough to understand.”  
“Good.” Mrs Stanley stood up, “well, Dr Macmillan is going to come and check you over, and she will bring you over to my house. It’s rather full and busy here … but would you mind if Aurelie came in to see Teddy?”  
“No, she’s welcome to,” Mary smiled, “I only caught a glimpse of her yesterday, she seems a sweet little kiddie.”  
“She is quite the little darling,” Prudence agreed and stood up to call her in.  
Aurelie almost crept in and took her Great-Aunt’s hand.   
“Oh,” she breathed, “isn’t he tiny?”  
“He’ll grow,” Prudence smiled, “you were once that tiny.”  
“Was I?” her eyes were like saucers.  
“You were.”  
“Miss Aurelie,” Mary picked her son up, “if you sit here, would you like to hold him?”  
“Can I?” Aurelie looked from one to the other and though Mrs Stanley didn’t think it was a good idea, Aurelie was very young, Mary was Teddy’s mother and it was her decision.  
Aurelie sat against the back of the couch and Mary placed Teddy on her arms, holding his head steady, “There,” she smiled.  
Aurelie was too stunned to say anything she just gazed adoringly at him.  
“Miss Williams said Miss Fisher had a houseful,” Mary agreed.  
“She does,” Mrs Stanley nodded, “which is why I thought it best if you were moved as soon as possible.” She turned to Aurelie, “you can come and see him when you come and play with Arthur, dear.”  
“Thank you, Aunt Prudence,” she allowed Mary to take the baby, he was quite heavy, for her, “I’d like that very much. But I’m going to school next week.” She pouted.  
“You will be able to come at weekends, sometimes for tea after school, and you will get holidays, pet,” Aunt Prudence assured her, “you won’t be at school every day.”

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With Mary transported to Rippon Lea and Jack off to the station, promising to be back later and, yes, he would stay for dinner, Phryne set to working out how she could get clothes for Johnny that Jack would approve of, a bed for him at his father’s house as well as being available should Jack require her input on the case.  
“Well, Miss,” Dot stood with a notebook ready to take down any ideas they had, “you could ask an outfitter to call, if I measure the young lad up, but as to the bed, wouldn’t that be better if the Inspector sorted that out?”  
“I could order one,” Phryne thought for a moment, “then arrange for it to be delivered when Jack is home, I mean at his house, he also said he didn’t have a couch – sounds like Rosie stripped the place bare.”  
“It does, Miss,” she agreed, “but what I don’t understand is the boy,” she lowered her voice, “I mean not to even tell him she was in the family way, it’s not as if they weren’t married.”  
“I wonder if she wanted children,” Phryne hummed, “I mean it wasn’t on my to do list, but when Aurelie was born I fell in love and she was mine, something I created – even though I needed a little bit of help, but I had kept her safe inside me I couldn’t just abandon her.”  
“I suppose some women are not born to be mothers,” Dot shrugged.  
“I wasn’t born to be a mother, but she had a husband who wanted a child and he is a good man,” Phryne stood up and poked the fire firmly, “he’s very angry, Dot.”  
“I don’t blame him,” Dot sighed, “now, to Johnny’s clothes …”  
“Yes, yes, I agree, measure him up and ring the outfitters, please Dot, you know what he needs.” Phryne straightened her shoulders, “I must see if Mary, our Mary, has plans for Aurelie today, she starts school next week … these are her last few days of freedom.”  
Dot laughed, and agreed, “You know I can almost remember them myself …”

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Jack had taken Hugh and another constable first to Fletcher’s home to search for any evidence which told how he was selling the girls, where he was getting them from and where he was sending them, who else was involved, apart from Sanderson, bank accounts, sales ledgers, anything at all that would add to the case against him. He found a safe, not unlike the one Phryne had in her parlour, hidden behind a painting. Opening it would be a problem, Fletcher was unlikely to give up the combination -willingly – but he did know how to work out the combination, if he had a glass tumbler. He had seen Phryne do it, though he had looked away and pretended to look through some papers on a desk at the time.  
“You haven’t seen this, Collins,” he pulled a chair over to the wall and thought about what he was listening for – the tumblers falling, slipping into place, then he would have to turn the dial the opposite way, at least that was how he remembered Phryne doing it. “Close the door.”  
Hugh couldn’t give a damn how Jack was going to get into the safe, he only knew there was likely to be damning evidence inside; illegal or not, it had to be done, besides Fletcher had no right to complain, he must have made a note of the combination somewhere, or maybe Jack worked it out, he would keep his mouth closed. He would have been happy to leave Fletcher in the bay, after all.  
Jack was rather embarrassed at how easy he found it – as the last tumbler dropped into place and the handle was pressed down, the door swung open and all the sales ledgers were on view.   
“Here,” he handed a pile down to Hugh, “log these as evidence.”  
“Sir,” Hugh set them on the desk, next to a neat pile of diaries he had prepared to take back to the station, “seems rather a lot, sir.”  
“Probably been doing it for some time, but it was only Mary listening to Bernadette that brought the deals to the fore. Of course if Mary hadn’t been in the Repentance Room … and of course Joan going missing.” Jack stepped down and closed the safe, “now we go to Sanderson’s house. Have one of the others take those back to the station and put them in the safe in my office.”  
“Yessir!” Hugh hefted the pile into his arms and headed out to the car. The ledgers and diaries were sent off to the station and he went back into the house to see if Jack needed him to do anything else before they went to search the next house.

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Jack knew the Sanderson house very well, from the time he had courted Rosie and the time Sanderson had been caught in the middle of a case involving a ‘dancer/escort’ at a ‘Gentleman’s Club’. He had been innocent of all charges on that occasion, framed, but this time it was different. Having been caught at the ship at the raid that never was or was going to be, and Rosie obviously knowing about and accepting that her fiancé and father were selling young girls … George was not going to get away with this, nor was Fletcher and Rosie was an accessory. Then there was Johnny. He’d tried not to think about his son as he went about his morning’s business, not because he wanted to forget about him but to think about him while he was in the process of making a case against his mother and grandfather made it difficult to concentrate, and it made him angry.  
In a drawer in George’s desk he found a small box with odd items in it … buttons, a belt buckle, a cigarette lighter, a cigarette case, a book of matches … they must mean something to someone.  
He examined the cigarette lighter and case, they were silver – the lighter was fashioned from a bullet, often found on diggers and Tommies in the trenches, the case was decorated with an enamel painting of a Greek lady, and inside was engraved, which led them to ex-Commissioner Hall. – who had so recently resigned. Now, why would George Sanderson have Hall’s cigarette case? It was a gift from Mrs Hall, on their fifteenth wedding anniversary. As far as Jack knew the Commissioner was a widower.

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Back at Wardlow the outfitter had arrived laden down with undergarments for a thirteen year old boy, shirts, trousers, jumpers … everything a boy would need to appear well brought up but not too fine. Dot, when phoning the store had explained that the boy was the son of a police officer, recently found, so he had gathered up suitable garments.  
Johnny stood in the parlour, now wearing a set of undergarments, and surveyed the articles before him. Phryne had told him to choose the things he liked then he would try them on and they would select the best fitting and most appropriate for him.  
“You mean, I get more than one lot?” he gasped, fingering the sleeve of a white shirt.  
“Oh yes,” Phryne nodded, “otherwise it’s Mr Butler’s robe while your clothes are in the wash.”  
She left him with Dot while she went to spend a little time with Aurelie. 

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Aurelie sat on her Maman’s lap while she read to her, they talked about what she would do at school, how she would learn to read herself … “but Maman, you will still read to me, won’t you?”  
“Of course I will,” Phryne kissed her head. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  
“And I will come home every night?”  
“Where else would you go, ma petite?” Phryne put the book down and looked at her daughter. They had gone through how she would get to school taken her round the buildings and she had met her teacher. They had told her that Mary, or her mother, or sometimes M’sieur Cec or M’sieur Bert would collect her at the end of the day, home in time for tea.  
“Well, Cousin Guy said he went away to school, he lived there and Jane doesn’t always come home,” she frowned.  
“Cousin Guy was quite a big boy when he lived at school, not a little titch like you, and Jane only stays over because she wants to, she can come home any night but she likes to stay with her friends during the week, sometimes.” Phryne hugged and kissed her, “Jane’s friends are at school and she can do more work in the evenings … they have a lovely big library that she can use. You, cherie, don’t need to stay, and I wouldn’t want you to. Remember when were at Grandpapa’s house and I talked to Mr Yowart, the teacher at the village school?”  
Aurelie nodded.  
“Well, you would have gone in the morning and come home in the afternoon, for tea, maybe I would have taken you to the tea shop for Mrs Allinson’s currant buns, but I expect Mr Butler can make some of those for you.”  
“Oh yes, that would be scrummy,” Aurelie brightened and became more relaxed about school.  
“You will make new friends there, and if you like perhaps one or two could come for tea,” Phryne hummed, she wasn’t sure about having lots of children around the house, with all her rather nice furniture, but a couple could play in the playroom, she supposed. It wasn’t something that had happened when she was a child and she so wanted her daughter to have what she couldn’t.  
“What about Johnny?”  
“Hm? Oh, that’s up to the Inspector, I expect he will enrol him in a school, to finish his education …” Phryne shrugged.  
“… but where will he live?”  
“At Uncle Inspector’s of course,” Phryne laughed, “where else?”  
“Well,” Aurelie had given this some thought and to her little mind it was simple … “if they stayed last night why don’t they stay every night.”  
Phryne could see the childish logic and if she had been drinking no doubt she would have spluttered, but, “I think they need to get to know each other, ma petite, and the Inspector does have his own house. I expect they will stay for another couple of days, though, there are things to sort out, first.”  
“I like him,” Aurelie stated firmly, “he’s a nice boy.”  
“Well, he’s the Inspector’s son, so I wouldn’t expect anything less, would you?”  
Aurelie shook her head and slipped off her mother’s knee, “can I go and ask Mr Butler if he knows how to make currant buns?”  
Phryne threw back her head and laughed, then agreed she could go and plague the man. She also needed to see if he had thought about a lunch hamper, for Jack and Hugh; Hugh was always included in lunchtime hampers and no doubt they would both need sustenance. She wondered if he had had time to speak to Rosie.

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Jack hadn’t spoken to Rosie, yet, he wasn’t sure he wanted to, it would lead to a row, an almighty row, so he hoped that by waiting until he no longer hurt over the deception (which would be never) he might be able to discuss it, but he would never forgive her, ever. So, he was stuck, on that, but not stuck on charging her with aiding and abetting a felon.  
He decided, first of all to find out why Sanderson had Commissioner Hall’s cigarette case, and what the other ‘trinkets’ in the collection were.

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George sat opposite him in the interview room, Hugh stood by to take notes and Jack spread the collection out in front of him – and waited.  
Sanderson shrugged then asked where he had got them?  
“You know very well where they were, George,” Jack sighed, “don’t play games with me, what I want to know is why you have Commissioner Hall’s cigarette case?”  
“Ex-Commissioner,” Sanderson sneered, “and it was given to me by that Lyon woman, the one who runs that so-called ‘Gentlemen’s Club’. Hall frequented the establishment and had an understanding with one of her girls. You know how hard I worked to close these places, Jack, that one was, and I reiterate, was, a borderline brothel. She agreed to clean up the place and I agreed to give her time …”  
“Especially if she gave you information on high society and politicians who may not be quite faithful to their wives or are just plain paying for sex,” Jack snapped, “blackmail, George, is a crime, however you do it. You threatened to tell about Hall and the girl.”  
“Wouldn’t look good, Jack,” George smirked, “the Commissioner of Police making use of prostitutes while trying to clean up the city. Hall left the cigarette case in the girl’s room and Madame Lyon passed it on to me.”  
“And the rest of these things?” Jack waved his hand over the buttons, belt buckles and assorted objects.  
“People who should know better.”  
“You blackmailed these men to do what? Pay you, clear the way for you, like you did with Hall, you are no better than the men who take advantage of these girls who work for Madame Lyon … you, Commissioner Sanderson are a disgrace to the name of policing.” Even if he had known about Johnny, even if he and Rosie had remained married and raised their son together, he would hate that he would have known a grandfather like George. He would, one day know, but not now.  
He sent Sanderson back to the cells and decided that Fletcher would be next to be interviewed. That interview went ever worse – Sidney Fletcher saw nothing wrong in sending young girls to the Middle East and other places as goods, cargo to be sold like the slaves in the Roman markets thousands of years ago. The fact that Fletcher saw nothing wrong in his dealings, and that he was not in the least concerned that his ledgers had been discovered led Jack to believe someone higher up was running the operation. Of course, he wasn’t going to give up the name, or how he arranged for the girls to be released from the laundry and his inflated ego told him he was going to get away with it. Jack knew otherwise, come hell or high-water Fletcher was going to jail, so was Sanderson – now he had to interview Rosie and see how much she actually knew. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

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Phryne pulled the car up in front of the station and smiled at her companions. At first, she hadn’t wanted Aurelie to accompany her, she hadn’t really wanted Johnny there, either, although it had been one of her first thoughts that morning, but he insisted, he wanted to see his father, where he worked – properly.   
“Now, remember what I said,” she warned the children as she picked up the lunch hamper from the back seat, “if he is very busy we have to leave – no arguments.”  
“Oui, Maman,” Aurelie nodded and took her mother’s free hand.  
“Johnny?” she hummed.  
“Ok, Miss,” he nodded, silently praying he would at least be able to have a little of the lunch she carried. He had smart new trousers in grey wool, a white shirt and navy-blue tie with a self-coloured check, and a grey and blue striped pullover on. The outfitter had supplied good quality, but not over-priced clothes and Johnny now had a good selection of shirts, trousers and pullovers. He also had two jackets that were being altered to fit across the shoulders.

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Hugh looked up from the desk as she entered. He was surprised that she would have Miss Aurelie with her but who was the boy? The Inspector hadn’t said anything about her fostering again, his clothes were obviously brand new so that was Miss Fisher’s doing unless it was a friend come to stay.  
“Is the Inspector in, Hugh?” Phryne smiled softly, “we thought he might like something more than the pie cart,” she raised the basket, “there’s enough for you too, Dot made sure of that.” Her grin became conspiratorial.  
“He is, Miss,” Hugh nodded, “he’s finished two interviews, Miss Sanderson is this afternoon.”  
“We shall go and surprise him then,” Phryne proceeded to take the children through to the office, rather glad Johnny did not know who his mother was.  
Hugh shook his head and smiled, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

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Jack looked up as the door opened, expecting Hugh to have brought in a cup of tea and something to eat. He needed something to take the nasty taste out of his mouth that the case had given him. But his heart leapt a little at the three smiling faces, and the hamper, that were before him, one of which was his son … his son! He still had to pinch himself and he didn’t think he’d have to stop any time soon, even if the circumstances made him angry.  
“Hello, Pa!” Johnny grinned and with the door still open Hugh heard him.  
‘Pa?’, he blinked, the Inspector and Miss Sanderson didn’t have children … he dialled Wardlow.  
“Dottie,” he hissed, “Miss Fisher’s just come in with a boy …”  
He nearly dropped the phone as, in the hall at Miss Fisher’s house, Dot explained quickly that yes, it was the Inspector’s son and yes, he would get the full story but not to say a word, especially not when Miss Sanderson was in earshot.  
In the office Jack stood up and grinned. He held out his hand to Johnny, noting that Phryne held Aurelie back for a moment.  
“Hello Son, I see Miss Fisher has been shopping,” he looked him up and down, “I approve. You must tell me how much I owe you, Phryne.”  
“All in good time, Jack,” she smiled and set the basket down, “lunch, you must be famished.”  
“Miss Fisher had the outfitter come over to the house,” Johnny stood next to his father so Aurelie could get her hug in, “I had to choose.” His eyes were wide with amazement as he remembered Phryne saying he had a say in what he wore, but she would tell him if she thought it not suitable.  
“Did she now? Well, she has influence, son, but you couldn’t really go out in an outsize robe and shirt, could you.”  
“No sir,” Johnny pulled a chair over, “is this alright?”  
“Absolutely,” Jack lifted the cover on the hamper and almost licked his lips. “Hungry?”  
“Always,” Johnny nodded.  
Phryne laughed, “so like his father,” she lifted Aurelie onto her lap and they set to eating the sandwiches, quiche, fruit and cakes that Mr Butler had packed, and then called Hugh in to share what was left – the children were still nibbling – and tell him the story of Johnny.  
Hugh’s eyes opened wide at the telling, he could not understand how any mother would abandon her child and lie about his father. If, or when he became a father, it would be with a girl who loved children because there would be many of them, and they would love each and every one of them, even if they were starving.  
“Now, constable,” Jack cleared his throat, “no one is to know, especially those in the cells, it’s not a secret, it’s just not to become common knowledge. The constables can be worse than the neighbours for gossip.”  
“Sir,” Hugh nodded, “I can do that.” Jack knew he could, it was only Phryne he couldn’t keep secrets from, and so far they had managed not to tell Johnny his mother was in the cells or that she was still alive, and he hadn’t asked, though he must be curious.  
There was a knock at the door and a constable put his head in, “Sir, lady in the cells is creating a bit of a stir, demanding to see you.”  
“She is, is she?” Jack mused, “she should learn some patience; I shall call her through in due course.”  
“Sir,” the constable disappeared.  
He was back rather quickly, and also rather anxious looking.  
“Sir,” he gulped, “she is demanding to see you, says you have no right to hold her she has done nothing wrong.” He was pink with embarrassment but Jack knew Rosie could be quite forthright.  
“Tell her that I make the rules here, in this station … no, leave her, I shall be finished in due course, Jeffcote, escort her to the Interview Room.”  
“Sir,” he left again.  
“We’d better go, Jack,” Phryne stood up, “remember you two, we agreed if the Inspector was busy we would leave.”  
“Alright,” Aurelie slumped.  
As they left the room, and out of sight of the front desk, Jack pressed a kiss to Phryne’s lips, “thank you,” he whispered.  
“Pleasure, Jack,” she kissed his cheek and wiped away the trace of lipstick with her thumb.  
Johnny held back, just a moment and tugged his father’s sleeve.  
“Pa?” he hissed, “do you like Miss Fisher?”  
“Son,” Jack smiled, “I do, rather a lot, do you mind?”  
“No sir!” he grinned, “I like her too, she’s very kind.”  
“She is son, also a crack shot, nifty on her feet if she has to move fast and has a clever mind and a rapier-like wit. She’s rather pretty too, eh?” he winked.  
Johnny nodded, as if it was a secret between them. He started to catch up with Phryne and Aurelie when Rosie strode out of the Interview Room, in time to see Jack share the confidence with his son.  
“Who’s that?” she demanded, loudly.  
Jack sighed, Jeffcote was obviously no match for his ex-wife but, well, no time like the presence.  
“Off you go, lad,” Jack smiled, “see you later, at dinner, no doubt.” He turned back to Rosie, “this way, Miss Sanderson,” and they headed back to where she should have stayed.  
“That,” he ground, once inside with the door shut “is Johnny, my son.”  
Rosie’s mouth hung open, she went pale.  
Phryne couldn’t help it, she couldn’t resist, “Hugh, would you be a dear and see that the children are taken home, to Wardlow, I think the Inspector may need a woman, in the interview … as you have no female constables?” she raised her eyebrows hoping he would get the idea.  
“Miss Fisher,” Hugh shrugged, “I’d be happy to escort them myself. Jeffcote!” he called into the back of the station, “man the desk!”  
Jeffcote scurried through and nodded to his slightly superior colleague, the desk he could manage, toffee nosed female smugglers were outside his purview, he thought. Even if they were the boss’s ex-wife!

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There was an awkward silence in the Interview Room as Phryne slipped in. Rosie was sitting at the table while Jack stood straight backed and the most serious she had ever seen him, staring at her.  
“Miss Fisher,” he blinked, “how kind of you to join us, I could use a woman’s view on this.”  
“Inspector,” she nodded, “I wondered if I might be of some assistance.”  
Rosie looked from one to the other, Miss Fisher unnerved her, she was far too clever for her good.   
“Now, Miss Sanderson,” Jack insisted on calling her by the name she now went by, not Rosie, not a term of endearment, he had distanced himself from her by this relatively simple act, “about these girls that were on the Pandarus … how much did you know?”  
“Oh Jack,” she sighed, “you are in far too deep, this time.”  
“I would say the opposite, Miss Sanderson,” he ground out, “that you are in deeper than you think. You told me, last night, that if I had left things alone things would have gone on as they had been doing. You, Fletcher and your father profiting off the back of these young girls … oh, yes I had noticed the clothes that were nicer than I could have offered you, the jewellery … but it’s not that, it’s the fact that you would let it happen. White slavery is one of the worst crimes imaginable, those girls …”  
“... would be looked after …”  
He threw up his hands, “for god’s sake! they would be sold, to the highest bidder, installed in harems, if they were lucky, though luck is an unknown factor in this case or used as prostitutes! They would be little more than possessions!” He stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You cannot sell girls like you sell cattle. How much did you know?”  
“Enough,” she huffed, “Sidney was generous to me …”  
“He bought your silence?”  
She stared at him. “I didn’t know the full extent until after the New Year ball. I wanted to know why Sidney and father wouldn’t join forces with Mrs Stanley and they told me – Sidney said it was why he was able to treat me so well, so much better than you.” This last she spat at him. “Who’s Johnny?” she asked again. Changing the subject, Jack remembered she was good at that.  
“You know damn well who Johnny is,” he leant on the table and stared into her eyes, “he’s the baby you never told me about, the baby you abandoned to the orphanage – telling them his father had died at Poziéres – my son. Now, how much are you involved in Fletcher’s business?”  
She leant back and folded her arms, “I was not involved.”  
“Just rode on the back of it, but you knew and therefore you are complicit.”  
“All this, just for a child?!” she scowled, “I never wanted a child, but you did, all you ever went on about …”  
“Not true and you know it, I … that’s not what this is about, but you abandoned a child you were well able to take care of, even employ a nurse, and you had family. You didn’t even tell me you were expecting, what did you tell your sister, or your father?”  
“That he died at birth,” she sneered, “he was …”  
“… red and squashed up, bawling his head off …” Phryne stepped closer to the table, “but when they open their eyes … I’ve been there, Miss Sanderson, I didn’t really want to be a mother but when Aurelie opened her eyes I was caught, hook, line and sinker. Now you may not have wanted a child but you knew your husband did, you knew he was alive and by the time Johnny was born you also knew there was a good chance he was coming home, though you may have had to wait, and what a gift to give him, a son, but instead you pass him off like an old dress, and you lied to your family. Your son is a remarkable boy and I know his father will give him the best he can …”  
“… and I suppose you will have a hand in that …” Rosie huffed.  
“That is entirely up to his father, but even if I don’t, and I don’t expect to, that is not my place, I will be pleased to have met him.” Phryne sat down opposite her, “you have betrayed Jack …”  
“This is nothing to do with you!” Rosie spat back, “you are nothing but a high class whore …”  
“Rosie!” Jack exploded.  
“… who sleeps with anyone she comes across, and with a child in the house, meddles in things that doesn’t concern you …”  
“I am who I am, Miss Sanderson,” Phryne replied coolly, “I make no apologies for that, but I know Jack is an honourable man, the most honourable and kind, serious and smart man I have ever met.”  
“So smart he let my father guide him into marriage with me …” she sneered, “oh, yes, Jack, it was always in his plan to marry me to a young copper he could train …”  
“He made a mistake there,” Phryne interrupted, “he didn’t know, he didn’t see the man that was already there, an honourable man …”  
“… he went away …”  
“… I didn’t want to, but you went on and on as if I was a coward for not enlisting, then I enlisted and now you tell me you resent me going away … jeez, woman,” he ran his hands through his hair, “you have got to be the most selfish woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet …” Jack had run out of things to say, without becoming very insulting, and he didn’t want to do that, “you will go back down to the cells where you can think about what you have done, then we shall talk again, about the girls, not Johnny. Then you will make a formal statement before being taken somewhere to wait for your trial.”  
Phryne watched him with interest, Jack was hurting, hurting even more than she ever did, betrayed, lied to, denied the chance of watching his son learn to walk, to talk … discarded when he didn’t meet expectations, thrown out with the bathwater when he didn’t come back a hero. Well, whatever Rosie Sanderson thought of him, he would always be a hero to her, to Aurelie, and, she suspected, to Johnny because Jack was the best man, the best copper she had ever known. Some people would call what she felt for Inspector Jack Robinson, love, but it was so much more to her, this feeling she had, that had grown and was now ready to burst out of her and she was ready to defend him. However, now was not the time to declare her feelings, now was the time to be there, when he wanted her, and even if he didn’t, she’d be there.  
They watched as Rosie was taken back down to the cells then Jack sat down suddenly, and put his head in his hands. Phryne reached across and stroked his hand, ready to be pushed away or grabbed, whichever happened she was ready for. What she wasn’t ready for was for him to take her hand and kiss her palm, sweetly, softly.  
“Thank you,” he whispered, “for being here, and I’m sorry, for what she called you, it’s not true.”  
“I’ve been insulted by better people than her, Jack,” she smiled gently, “but I don’t sleep around, like she implied, haven’t done for …”  
He stopped her, “… don’t. You don’t have to explain yourself to me – don’t apologise to me for who you are. She has no idea what you have been through, in your life, she has no right to judge you.”  
“Thank you, Jack.” She stood up, “now I expect you have paperwork to do, dinner will be at six-thirty tonight, to accommodate the younger ones.”  
“I’ll be there,” he smiled a little smile.

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Phryne looked up as Mr Butler announced the arrival of the Inspector, but she let Johnny greet him first, then Aurelie threw herself at him and finally she was able to smile and pat the seat next to her on the chaise.  
“All done?” she asked quietly.  
“Just about,” he nodded and took a sip of the cocktail Mr Butler had created. “A few more bits of paper that can wait until tomorrow, but it’s all quiet in the cells.”  
“Good,” she patted his hand and noticed Johnny watching them out of the corner of his eye. “Did you get a statement from Rosie?”  
“Eventually, she didn’t know much, before the ball, and then, like she said she was happy to ride on Fletcher and her father’s coat tails, because she got nice things out of it.” He scowled, “she always was rather materialistic.”   
Phryne wasn’t sure what to say about that, she, for all her wealth, was almost the opposite, money bought her nice things, things she would never have afforded without her father’s elevation to the peerage yet if it all went tomorrow she would find a way to keep body and soul together better than she had in the past. She had skills, a good education, even if she did skip the odd lesson, she’d manage.   
“Have you spoken to Commissioner Hall, yet?”  
“Quick call this evening, he’s calling by tomorrow, hopefully we can have him re-instated. Did you know, no of course you didn’t, I forgot to tell you, Sanderson was keeping souvenirs, things left at the Club, or lifted by the girls on request, that were passed over to him by Madame Lyon – her price for keeping the club operating.  
“It’s not that bad a club, though, is it.” Phryne sighed. “Yes, there are girls there, who dance and entertain, maybe some of them have particular favourite ‘gentlemen’, but it’s not run as a brothel.”  
“I know, but it was Sanderson’s particular idea that we should be free of ladies of the evening in Melbourne.”  
“If you close down all the brothels they just end up on the streets and that is far more dangerous,” Phryne hummed. “Madame Lyon looks after her staff.”  
He hummed his agreement, but turned his attention to Johnny.  
“So, son,” he smiled, “what have you been up to today, apart from acquiring a whole new wardrobe?”  
“We went to the foreshore, this afternoon,” he moved to sit on the floor facing his father, “then Miss Fisher took us for an ice-cream and then she bought me some new shoes, two pairs!”  
“Ah, yes,” Jack suddenly remembered he owed Phryne money, “you must let me know how much I owe you, for clothing my son …”  
“All in good time, Jack,” she put her glass down, “there’s no rush for you to pay me back.”  
“Still, I must,” he insisted.  
“And you will, let’s get the case out of the way, first.”  
“If you insist,” he sighed, she was right, but he also needed to arrange for a bed at his own house for Johnny, they couldn’t stay at Wardlow forever. Not that he didn’t like it, it was just he had his own home and he didn’t want to be seen as freeloading off the Honourable Phryne Fisher.  
As Mr Butler chose that minute to announce that dinner was served, they stopped discussing money and accommodation and the subject matter turned to that of Johnny’s education.  
“Do I really have to go to school?” he huffed.  
“For a few more years, son,” Jack laughed, “you don’t think Miss Fisher and I got to be who we are by bunking off school, do you?”  
Phryne ducked her head and fussed with Aurelie’s dinner, hoping neither would notice.  
“But, what would I learn?”  
“All sorts,” Jack smiled, “mathematics, history, geography, science …”  
“Science sounds good,” Johnny stabbed his fork into a potato. “Did you learn science, Pa?”  
“I did, son,” Jack nodded, “and history …”  
“… and he quotes Shakespeare,” Phryne piped up.  
Jack rolled his eyes, “I found it took me out of the trenches, then.”  
“Trenches, Pa, you mean …?”  
“Yes, son,” Jack put his knife and fork down, “but it isn’t conversation for now.”  
“Pa?”  
“Johnny,” Jack touched his arm, “please …”  
Johnny looked at him and returned to his meal, there was a look in his father’s eyes that saddened him.  
“One day, Johnny,” Jack could see he was disappointed, “I will tell you, just not now, it’s nothing I look back on with fondness.”  
“Ok, I think I understand,” Johnny mused, “it can’t have been much fun, fighting.”  
“No, Johnny, it isn’t,” Phryne shook her head, “now, I wonder what’s for dessert.”  
Dessert was Aurelie’s favourite, chocolate parfait served with tiny crisp meringues, strawberries and cream, after which the little girl was taken up to be bathed by Mary and put to bed.  
“Will you read to me, please, Maman?” Aurelie didn’t really want to be dragged away, she was beginning to like this new addition to the family.  
“Alright, just a chapter,” Phryne smiled, “then you must sleep, it’s been a long day.”

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“Pa?” Johnny sat next to Jack in the parlour, an open book randomly chosen from the shelves – well, not completely randomly, Jack had suggested he choose from a particular section, books that were suitable for a thirteen year old. “That lady, the one you were talking to in the station, I’ve seen her, on the ship with Captain DeVere.”  
“Son?” he was wary of this ‘confession’. “She said she wasn’t aware of what was going on.”  
“Oh, I’m not sure she was, although she was passing things over to him, little metal tags, just the day before you were there.” He paused, “is it important?”  
“It could be, I’ll ask her about it tomorrow, now, son, I was wondering – when I was your age, and younger, I used to ride a bicycle, long rides out into the countryside, with my father; I was wondering if you would like to do that with me, sometimes.”  
“Well, I don’t know how to ride a bike, Pa,” Johnny hummed.  
“Would you like to learn? I could buy you a bike, we could go out when I’m not at work, you could cycle over here, or to me at the station, after school …” Jack became animated at the idea of time spent with his son.  
“You’d do that, for me?” Johnny gasped, “buy me a bike, spend time with me.”  
“You’re my son, it’s what fathers do, with their boys, we, dad and me, took a tent and camped on a weekend …”  
“Could we, really?”  
“We could, and we will,” Jack ruffled his hair, “this needs a cut. Now off to bed with you, it’s been a busy day.”  
“Thanks, Pa!” Johnny hugged him and Jack returned the embrace, wondering why it was so easy to love this boy.  
“Night, Miss Fisher!” Johnny called as he headed up the stairs, “thanks for today.”  
“You are most welcome, Johnny,” she grinned, “it was a pleasure.”  
Jack looked up and smiled, it was possibly the happiest she had seen him in the last couple of days.  
“Drink?” she lifted the whisky decanter.  
He nodded and loosened his tie, settling back on the chaise and waiting for her to join him. They seemed to sit together much more these days, instead of either side of the draughts board on separate chairs.  
“Comfy?” she asked with a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.  
“Do you mind?” he frowned slightly, had he overstepped the mark.  
“I do not in any way mind you being comfortable here, Jack,” she passed his drink over, “I am glad you can relax here, anytime, not just when it’s been a troublesome case like this. And considering we shared a bed last night …” she laughed.  
“Talking of which …” he blushed.  
“Sorry if I snore,” she sipped her drink, savouring the smooth single malt whisky she had imported from Scotland.  
“I didn’t notice,” he shrugged, “but …”  
She knew exactly what he was asking but with Johnny in the guest room she did have an accommodation problem. The previous night they had both been too tired to do anything but sleep and Jack was too emotionally exhausted with the exposure of his ex-wife as a liar and a member of a white slavery gang and the discovery that he was a father, and had been for thirteen years.  
“Do you mind? I can sleep with Aurelie, I’ve done it before,” she smiled, even though it wouldn’t be the most comfortable sleep. Aurelie’s bed was small, if they slept together it was usually in her bed, where there was room for both of them to spread-eagle if they wanted to.  
Jack had to admit that he didn’t mind sharing a bed with Miss Fisher, in fact he had fantasised about it, on the odd occasion, but was now the right time?  
“I’ve seen that bed,” he laughed, “one or the other of you would end up on the floor. I … er …” he’d never been this tongue-tied with a woman before, not even as a wet behind the ears constable, though this was not the kind of conversation he had had with women, then.  
“I promise not to ravish you, Jack,” she reached across and patted his thigh.  
“I could take the chaise,” he suggested.  
“No you don’t, I’ve slept on here, once, I ended up with neck ache for a week … it’s settled, we share, now, how about a game of draughts?”  
So it was settled; they played two or three games of draughts, drank another glass of whisky and talked about what they expected to hear from Commissioner Hall.  
“He’s always been the easiest man to work under,” Jack sighed, “I know he too wanted to get rid of as many of the ‘working women’ as he could, and I never saw him as a man who would go to a brothel after his wife passed.”  
“You know,” Phryne considered this, she knew the man in question and he always seemed a fine upstanding member of society, and kind, accepting of people for who they were, and of course, he didn’t mind her helping Jack with his cases as long as she was safe and didn’t go around shouting about it, so he had endeared himself to her, “that too worries me, and there are men who just go to talk to a member of the fair sex. I hope there is an innocent reason for him to be at the club.”  
“Me too,” he agreed.  
“So, tomorrow, you will talk to him,” she took three pieces, “would you like me to be there?”  
“Um,” he frowned, realising she had scuppered his next move, “I don’t know, I mean he’s a fair man … but I would like to know who he was visiting, at the club.”  
“Alright, I’ll go over there and try to find out,” she shrugged, “find out why he was visiting an employee.”  
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed and yawned.  
“Tired?”   
He tipped his head from side to side.  
“Bed time, Inspector,” she stood up and held out her hand, “we both need out sleep.”  
Although they had agreed he would share her bed he had almost hoped she would forget, got to bed and leave him to make his own arrangements on the chaise or the couch Mary had used the previous night – but he was mistaken.

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The bedroom was as he remembered it, opulent, rich in colour and décor, the fur runner still across the foot of the bed, the drapes drawn over the windows and the screen that gave her some privacy for dressing, but he still felt it was perhaps not the best idea, given his feelings for Miss Fisher. They hadn’t kissed again, not properly, since Christmas day under the mistletoe in the hall. Not that he didn’t want to kiss her, he did, but the kisses were just pecks on the cheek or forehead, these days, but he still dreamt of the Christmas kiss and sometimes, in his own bed, those dreams were not chaste.  
“I really should go home,” he turned suddenly to her.  
“Why? What about Johnny? Surely you wouldn’t leave him here, on his own, miss him getting up in the morning, having breakfast with him,” she reached out and held his hands, “this is just sleep, if that’s what you want it to be, Jack, dear, dear Jack; if you want it to be something else know that my feelings for you are more than that of a friend but I won’t pressure you into anything.”  
The only pressure he felt was the pressure to ‘perform’ adequately in bed. She had more experience than he had, embarrassingly, he had been young when he married and Rosie had been even younger, and naïve, though one or two ladies in France had taught him a few things. That said, he and Rosie had not been intimate since his return, due to his nightmares and his depressed feelings. Over ten years since he had been with a woman.  
“Can I kiss you?” he mumbled.  
“You can kiss me any time you want to, and if that time is now, I should like that very much,” she moved half a step closer. She had never taken things this slowly, with a lover, but Jack was more than that, for the first time since René she wanted more than a quick tumble between the sheets. She found it ironic that she seemed to be the one looking for some kind of commitment from Jack – and in the middle of such a dreadful case, too.  
The kiss was long, slow and deep. Their tongues performed their own dance to a tune nobody could hear, just the beating of both their hearts.  
Phryne hummed as they broke and leant against his chest. She felt warm in the circle of his arms, she inhaled his own special scent and it made her giddy, like too much champagne. She slid her hands up inside his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor as her arms went round his neck and he bent to kiss her again.

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The shedding of clothes and subsequent love-making was slow, considerate, and culminated in earth-shattering, heart-stopping climaxes for both of them. They had touched and kissed scars, left marks over each other that no one else would see. He had moved over her, stretching and filling her, connecting with her special spots that had her biting her lip to prevent her crying out in ecstasy, then surprised himself by being able to get a second erection whereby she had straddled him and he had watched her ride him and arch her back as a second climax, rode over her, and him. She hadn’t needed fingers, hers or his, to help her over the edge and she had tightened round him and held him for what seemed like hours before falling over him like a silk sheet, panting, pink and glistening.  
No words where said as he pulled the covers over them both and she cuddled into him, dozing off into blissful dreams.  
He lay awake for some time, though he was tired, wondering how it had come to this, that he would not only be sleeping in her bed, but that they had made love and it was more than he had ever dreamed of. For once he didn’t have any worries about their relationship.

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He rolled out of bed noticing he had used a few muscles more the previous night. He stretched and yawned, feeling far more ready to face whatever the day threw at him than he had done of late. Phryne opened one sleepy eye and noticed he had rather a nice, neat bum. She hadn’t examined it last night, though her hands had strayed over it – several times!  
She hummed and he turned round, shocked, not realising she was awake.  
“Not shy, Jack, are you?” she teased, she thought she could now, after the thorough ravishing they had given each other.   
He grabbed the robe left there by Mr Butler and wrapped it round him, quickly, blushing slightly. He cleared his throat, “Good morning, Miss, er … Phryne.”  
She sat up and let the covers fall from her, exposing the neat breasts and the marks he had left there; it got the reaction she was hoping for, noticeable even through the thick wool of Mr Butler’s robe.  
“Well,” she grinned lasciviously, “good morning to you too, Jack,” she clipped the last ‘ck’ something she did regularly but this morning it sounded much sexier. “Sleep well?”  
“Eventually,” he smiled. “I, er, I have to get to work, more interviews …” he looked as if he wasn’t really excited about it.  
“Mm,” she sighed, “Commissioner Hall …”  
“… and Perpetua,” he added, “I think she has more to do with it, at least … someone in the laundry had to know what Fletcher and Sanderson were up to.” He sat down, thinking, on the side of the bed. “It’s a dirty case, Phryne, something I never thought to see, not here, not in Melbourne. Murders, thefts, rapes, assaults … though I’d rather not expect them, I do, but – selling young girls, no.” He leant forward, his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face.  
Phryne sighed, most cases got to him in some way or another, but it was as if this one, every time he thought about it too deeply, cut him, wormed its way into his heart and killed a little bit of it. She rose up on her knees and draped herself over his shoulders, dipping her hands inside the robe and pressing them over his heart.  
“You will get to the bottom of this, Jack,” she nibbled his ear, “I know you will, you always do.” She reached down and undid the tie round his waist eyeing the spear of flesh greedily.  
“Phryne, I need …”   
She was straddling his lap, his erection trapped between then and lowering her lips to his.  
“Shh,” she whispered, nipping his bottom lip encouraging him into a long kiss.  
“God, Phryne,” he hummed, “oh, god,” he gasped and lifted her up so she could position him at her entrance. He should be getting ready to go to the station and here he was, sheathed in her wet heat instead, and it was so good.  
His hands splayed across her back as he thrust up into her and she rubbed her breasts against his chest. She nearly fell off him, backwards as the climax took her out of her body and he followed her with a grunt. He pulled her close, her chin resting on his shoulder as they came back to themselves, panting and giggling.  
“You are a bad influence,” he kissed her shoulder, it was a lovely shoulder her thought, and, unlike most of the rest of her devoid of any marks – yet.  
“Complaining?”  
“Never,” he kissed her lightly again, “but I do have criminals to bring to book.” He stood up and let her place her feet on the ground in front of him.   
She grinned and stepped aside so he could go into the bathroom, then climbed back into the bed – to think. She had flirted with Jack for months, nearly a year, never with enough seriousness to get him into her bed, because she didn’t think that was what he wanted, and she wasn’t sure, in the early days of their partnership, that it was what she wanted, but she had stopped, as Rosie so coarsely put it, sleeping around. She heaved a sigh, she didn’t want him to go back to his little house, no matter how nice it was, she wanted him here, with her. They could be a proper family with Johnny, Aurelie and Jane, weirdly for her it was what she felt to be right. She huffed, quietly. This was not what she had in mind when she came back to Melbourne. What she had in mind was finding Janey, finding where she was buried then building a life for herself and Aurelie. She hadn’t planned on becoming a Lady Detective, or fostering a teenage girl, or … or … dammit! she hadn’t planned on falling in love with a copper and imagining a future where family was the centre of it. Family had always been fighting and getting a beating for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, though her father had changed it seemed when she was in England and the change had stayed if his letters were anything to go by, family with René was not something he wanted and actively tried to stop …  
“Hey,” a soft voice broke through her thoughts, “you ok?” Jack had finished in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.  
She looked up and smiled, “Fine, just thinkin’,”  
“Is that good, this early in the morning?” he teased, “or am I in trouble?” he raised an eyebrow.  
“You aren’t in trouble, Jack,” she laughed, “well, not after last night, and this morning, you are quite the dark horse.”  
“I aim to please,” he took it from her comment that she was happy with what they had done.  
“And your aim was true, Detective Inspector …” she made the title sound sultry, almost filthy. She slipped off the bed and headed into the bathroom, as naked as the day she was born.


	13. A bed and a couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up the case, Mary makes a decision and Jack still needs to talk to Phryne - properly.

Over breakfast Phryne offered to see Commissioner Hall after she had been to see Madame Lyon.  
“Join us at the station,” Jack swallowed the last of the perfectly fried egg, “elevenish, he should be there then. You can then confirm or deny what he tells me about the club and who he was seeing.”  
“And if all is good?” she sipped the industrial strength coffee Mr Butler had prepared for her, “he will be re-instated?”  
“Hope so,” Jack stood up, ruffled Johnny’s hair and kissed Aurelie’s curls, “best get off, I need to see Perpetua.” He walking round the table to where she sat, bent down and kissed her lightly, on the lips, “See you later,” he smiled.  
She gave a little wave, almost speechless at the simple, familiar act.  
As the door closed, she wondered if there would be any need for a bed to be bought for Johnny, at his house.  
Johnny and Aurelie watched her thinking, both having similar thoughts, Aurelie still wondering if they had stayed the last two nights why couldn’t they stay all the time?  
Johnny wondered just how much his father ‘liked’ Miss Fisher.

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Leaving the children to the care of Mary, Dot and Mr Butler, Phryne headed out to see Madame Lyon, having phoned and asked for a short interview. Madame Lyon intimated it was a reasonable request and she knew Miss Fisher could be discreet should she need to be.

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The club was quiet at that time of day, the girls were having breakfast and attending to their personal needs.  
“Miss Fisher,” Madame Lyon looked up from the book she was writing in, “good morning. How may I help you?”  
“Straight to the point, Madame,” Phryne sat opposite her, “it’s about Commissioner Hall …”  
“I believe he resigned and George Sanderson took over,” the woman mused. Phryne thought she detected some distaste in the uttering of Sanderson’s name.  
“He did, Sanderson was blackmailing him about his visits here,” Phryne agreed.  
“I don’t know why,” she put down her pen, “Commissioner Hall came once a week, he had a light dinner and a couple of glasses of wine, a Bordeaux if I remember rightly. Then he would go and talk to Millie. How did Sanderson know he was visiting?”  
“He was passed Hall’s cigarette case, we were led to believe you passed such things over, as evidence …”  
“I never saw the cigarette case,” Madame Lyon frowned, “and Millie wouldn’t pass it over.”  
“Who is Millie?” Phryne didn’t remember anyone of that name when she performed her, now legendary, fan dance.  
“She is a seamstress, she comes once a week to pick up any mending, stays to work in one of the back rooms. Anything that is going to take a long time or is a major rework she takes with her and returns it when it’s finished.”  
“So, Commissioner Hall is not visiting for other reasons? He’s not ‘involved’ with one of your girls.”  
“He found Millie being horribly abused by a friend of his late wife’s, a repair wasn’t up to snuff. They aren’t friends anymore – he knew she was good with a needle and though he had always attended the club it was only for dinner and light entertainment, and he knew I needed a seamstress. This isn’t a brothel, Miss Fisher, you know that; some of the girls may have favourite men, and may go a little further than I would like but it is a private arrangement.” Madame Lyon tapped her fingers, “I know Hall wanted to close down brothels, take prostitutes off the streets, and I understand that, but … Sanderson was putting pressure on me, on this club, he wanted proof that certain bigwigs were using the club for more than it is, and then he wouldn’t close us down. I’m convinced he was out to get anyone standing in his way. If he closed us down what would the girls do? Miss Fisher, these girls, my girls, are happy, healthy; I’ve recently engaged the services of a doctor, that is she is willing to come and treat any illnesses, any accidents – not that we have any,” she added hastily, but Phryne knew who she was talking about and Mac would tell her if she thought there was anything untoward.  
Phryne could see that Hall, Commissioner Hall, was not guilty of using prostitutes, or any other illegal activities, in fact he had tried to support a young girl who was abused.  
“Thank you, Madame Lyon,” she stood up, “I shall speak to Inspector Robinson, I doubt this will go any further.”  
“Thank you, Miss Fisher I appreciate your discretion.”

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Jack watched Perpetua and the nun across the table in the interview room. Perpetua had finally admitted she was giving Sidney Fletcher the names of the ‘good girls’ and he was paying her £10 a time, money she was putting into the church funds. All because the Mother of the house would not let her take her vows - she didn’t think she was prepared for the life of a nun, she was not humble enough, she did not understand that she would spend a lot of time in prayer, not enjoy the freedom she currently had, to go out into Melbourne.  
“But it’s all I ever wanted,” Perpetua moaned, “to join the nunnery.”  
“Perpetua, dear child,” the Sister murmured, “you are a good woman, at least I thought you were, but you are not made for the church. What will happen to her, Inspector?” She looked at Jack through tired, myopic eyes.  
“I’m afraid Perpetua will be charged with Fletcher and Sanderson and Miss Sanderson,” Jack sighed, “she was involved and knew what she was doing, and will have to face the consequences.”  
The Sister stood up and blessed both of them and left with a heavy heart.  
Jack stood and saw her out, asking Jeffcote to run the nun back to the laundry, then asked Hugh to take Perpetua to the cells. He would write up her statement and have her sign it that afternoon.

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“Sir,” Collins poked his nose in the office a little later, “Commissioner Hall is here, as is Miss Fisher.”  
“Ask them to step into the office, please, Collins,” Jack signed the file and stacked it on the corner of his desk, the one that Phryne didn’t sit on. He stood up ready to receive his visitors, smiling as Hall allowed Miss Fisher to enter first.  
“Commissioner,” Jack extended his hand, “good morning.”  
“No longer Commissioner, Inspector,” he hummed ruefully.  
“Well, perhaps Miss Fisher can shed some light on that,” he turned to Phryne, “Miss Fisher, I trust your investigation proved fruitful this morning?”  
“Absolutely, Inspector,” she sat down in the chair and smiled beatifically, “Madame Lyon assures me that Commissioner Hall visited the club for dinner and a couple of glasses of Bordeaux once a week, then went to see Millie, a seamstress he had arranged a position for, to see how she was getting along. Apparently, correct me if I’m wrong, Ernest,” she smiled at Hall, “Millie worked for a friend of your late wife and was abused by them?” she raised an eyebrow.  
He nodded his agreement.  
“So, you found a post for her as you knew Madame Lyon required someone who was good with a needle to repair the clothes the girls wore both for their entertainments and daily wear. Madame Lyon categorically denied that Commissioner Hall was using a girl for sinful purposes, she couldn’t imagine why you had resigned, Ernest.”  
Ernest Hall blushed, all he had tried to do was to ensure that Millie was settled in a job that she could do and that she wouldn’t be beaten for no reason at all.  
“Seems to me, Commissioner,” Jack sighed, “that Sanderson was going to blow up the situation, regarding your association with the club, out of all proportion. I suggest you rescind your resignation, Sanderson certainly won’t be claiming the post from a prison cell.”  
“What do you mean, a prison cell,” Hall gasped.  
“Sanderson, along with his daughter and Sidney Fletcher – of the shipping family – have been selling young girls to men in the Middle East. They are white slavers, Commissioner …”  
“Disgraceful!” Hall stood up and growled, “white slavers? Sanderson was always out for himself, that I did know, but this, well it’s unforgiveable. Shall I tell you a secret? I didn’t actually post the resignation,” he smirked, “I hoped that you and Miss Fisher would find out that I wasn’t using prostitutes and I could continue in post … pass me the file Inspector, I shall see that they are prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”  
Jack handed over the file and breathed a sigh of relief.  
“Oh, by the way, Inspector, Miss Fisher, I shall be recommending that City South retains Miss Fisher’s services as a consultant on any cases you deem worth her while. If that is acceptable, Miss?” he raised his eyebrows as he looked down on Phryne.  
“Perfectly, Commissioner,” she smiled, “as long as the Inspector is happy.”  
“I think that is a reasonable idea,” Jack smiled, “we have formed a good working partnership.”  
“I agree, but I should like you to be discreet, as to your personal involvement with each other, it hasn’t gone unnoticed.” He grinned.  
Phryne had the good grace to look a little coy, whereas Jack blushed to the tips of his ears.  
The Commissioner hummed and smiled, he had been young once, but he did feel it was for the best – making her association with the police force semi-professional. He waved the file in the air and left them to muse on his suggestion, his acceptance of her involvement in Jack’s cases.  
“I didn’t expect that,” he hummed, “but I’m glad he thinks it’s a good idea.   
“We get the job done, Phryne,” Jack sat back and crossed his legs, “he’s always recognised that.”  
“So,” she hummed, “what happened with Perpetua? And what about De Vere?”  
“She was giving Fletcher the names of likely girls, the good girls,” he sighed, “passing them over to him for ten pounds a time, the money went into the church. Apparently, the Mother Superior wouldn’t let her take her vows, didn’t think the life was right for her. I think Perpetua wanted to show she could support the church, financially, but selling girls is not a godly act, is it? As for De Vere he seems to have melted into the sea mist, we are still on the lookout but for now we have enough to go to court.”  
“Not even for a godless creature like me,” Phryne huffed.  
“What?” Jack was losing track of the conversation.  
Selling girls – not a godly act.”   
“You are not godless,” Jack sat forward, “you have more goodness in your little finger than those that run the laundry, that makes you practically saint like!”  
“Don’t tell my mother, she would disagree vehemently with you,” Phryne smiled, “but thank you, from a Roman courtesan to a saint, not a bad step.”  
“Ah, but Phryne the Courtesan was a good person, wasn’t she, I mean she offered to re-build the wall of Thebes after Alexander the Great destroyed them, so that makes her a good and thoughtful person,” Jack smiled. “Now to good things that you do, I owe you for the clothes you bought Johnny, and I need to order a bed for him, at my place, maybe a couch for visitors to sit on, too,” he winked.  
“Have you time to look?” she sighed, rather hoping he had forgotten about the lack of furniture at his house, “I could, if you trust me.”  
“I feel a long lunch-break coming on,” he stood up, “come on, take me shopping.”  
Phryne thought there were other things they could do in a long lunch-break, but there were children in the house.

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Mr Butler and Dot decided that baking with the children would keep them occupied for the morning and they were all covered in flour by the time they wanted lunch.   
“Is a basket going to the station, today?” Johnny asked, hopefully.  
“Not today, Master Johnny,” Mr Butler smiled, “your father will be back for dinner this evening. I don’t do a hamper unless Miss Fisher says so.”  
“We can share these biscuits with them, at tea time,” Aurelie suggested, “or can some go down for Uncle Inspector or Uncle Hugh. They like your biscuits, Dot.”  
“How about,” Dot smiled, “we make up a selection of what we have made, some shortbread, some ANZACs – the ANZACs are a particular favourite of your father’s, Johnny.”  
“They’re a particular favourite of mine, now,” Johnny laughed.  
“You are so alike,” Dot smiled, “if I’d passed you on the street, I would have said you have a look of him, and you are like him in nature too.”  
“What’s that mean?” he frowned.  
“It means you do similar things, you both like your food, you are both quite thoughtful and quiet and you have a sense of justice …”   
“Justice?”  
“Right and wrong, because you told your father about Miss Sanderson being on the ship, and you felt she shouldn’t be there.” Dot smiled and ruffled his hair, “how about we get this cut, before you see him tonight, eh?”  
“He said it needed a cut,” the boy sighed.  
“Well then, why not surprise him.”  
“Can I have it cut like his, but not quite so short?” he tipped his head to one side, “I mean they kind of scalped us at the orphanage, I’ve got used to it being a bit more – er … hairy.”  
Dot laughed and agreed it could be so.

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Jack and Phryne looked in several furniture emporia until the noise of Jack’s empty stomach made a sales man turn his head and smile.  
“Oh Jack!” Phryne giggled, “sorry, let’s go and find something to eat, can’t have you fainting on the job.”  
“It’s been a while since breakfast and I’m getting used to being fed, properly, though I shouldn’t be,” he sighed.  
She understood that to mean he wouldn’t be staying and she pouted, he could stay, she thought, forever, given how the last few days had gone.  
“You will have to eat properly with Johnny living with you, Jack, the boy needs to grow and the pie cart and station tea just won’t cut it …” she half teased.  
“I can cook, y’know,” he huffed, “if I had a couch you could come over and sample my damper topped chicken casserole, it’s a family favourite.”  
“Sounds lovely,” she hummed, this was another side to Jack, but then, she supposed that he would have had to learn to cook when Rosie left him, or live off the pie cart. “We’d better look for a couch then, as well as a bed, after lunch.”  
They found a small café that served a reasonable lunch that would tie them over until dinner. They talked of Aurelie beginning school the next week, their own school days and what Jack wanted for Johnny.  
“I want him to be happy, to know that he is loved, to find his own path and not feel he has to follow me …” Jack sighed, “and I want him to have a decent education.”  
“Not boarding school though,” she hummed.  
“Lord no!” he gasped, “I want him to come home each night and tell me of his friends and his lessons, to sit with me and read or listen to music, to know my friends, you, Jane, the red raggers, Mrs Stanley … Aurelie, the family you built, I want him to know what a family can be, that it doesn’t have to be traditional, that it can be found, like you did …” he felt he wasn’t making sense, but Phryne knew exactly what he meant, and that he wouldn’t be disappearing from her sight anytime soon.  
“Shall we go and find him a bed, and you a couch,” she smiled and reached for his hand, “you can both come over to Wardlow anytime you want to, and stay for as long as you want, you are most welcome, wanted in our family, Jack, both of you.”  
He pulled her palm to his lips and kissed it, folding the fingers in to hold the tender touch. It sent a warm shiver through her, of love.

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When they finally found the furniture they wanted, and that Jack liked, they were told it would be a week before it could be delivered. The couch had to be upholstered in his chosen fabric and the bed would have to be made as the one they had chosen was only a display model. Jack supposed that was only reasonable as to keep a supply of beds and couches would take up a tremendously large warehouse.  
“Never mind, Jack,” Phryne smiled as they left the store, “at least you have somewhere for you and Johnny to stay while you wait.” She might have been just a little bit pleased with the situation.  
“I’m afraid I’m taking advantage of you …”  
“Take advantage all you want, Inspector,” she winked before he realised what he had said, “I might take a few liberties myself.”  
Jack blushed and cleared his throat, not quite sure where to look.  
“Well,” he recovered his composure, “I have work to do, Perpetua’s statement, then the file needs to go to the solicitors,” he kissed her cheek lightly, “see you later.”  
“Dinner, Jack dear,” she returned the kiss, “I shall let you tell Johnny he has to suffer my hospitality for another week.”  
Jack didn’t think his son would mind, and he didn’t really. They needed to talk, especially after last night – and that morning!

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Phryne practically skipped back into the house, the idea of Jack staying for another week had caused a little sun to shine in her heart. She would alert Mr Butler and Dot to the fact that they would have house guests for a little longer. Mr B would immediately begin to plan menus that appealed to the Inspector’s taste buds, Dot would conjure up ways to keep the young ones occupied and Mary would have to see that Aurelie didn’t expect too much, she liked Johnny as the brother her mother was unlikely to give her.

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“I’m sorry, Miss Phryne,” Mary stood staring at the carpet, “but … well … I do love him and he so needs someone to take care of him, so … I have no father to give or not give permission – I said ‘yes’.”  
Bruce Adamson had finally plucked up the courage to ask Mary to marry him. He also had come to the same conclusion that there was no father figure to ask for her hand and had asked her outright that day, when she had met him for lunch.  
“Miss Aurelie was with Dot and Master Johnny, she said I could take an hour, to go and meet Bruce – I mean Mr Adamson – for a quick lunch. He asked me – sort of blurted it out, but he did mean it and I do want …”  
“Mary,” Phryne touched her arm, “I’ve been waiting for him to ask you, I knew it was coming, and I’m happy for you, really, Aurelie may need convincing …”  
“I would like to keep a contact with her, and you, without you bringing me here, as her nanny, I would never have met him, so I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Aurelie won’t need me, much. She is starting school …”  
“You are part of my family, Mary, always will be, and that means Bruce will have to be put up with that too, does he know that?”  
“Oh yes, Miss, I insisted that if you need me, for Miss Aurelie, I need to be available, even if it is just to take her for a walk.” Mary had worried about informing her mistress she was about to leave her employ but it seemed she was more in touch with her state that she was.  
“And, Mary,” Phryne smiled, “if ever you need me, or things don’t go as planned, I will always be here for you, and Sammy and Bruce too. Have you set a date?”  
“Not yet, Miss. Bruce said I had to speak to you first, he wants to come and speak to you, tell you his prospects he says,” Mary giggled, “he’s a bit old fashioned.”  
“At least he doesn’t expect a dowry, but I would like to give you a wedding present, as the only family the bride has here in Australia, I would deem it an honour if you would let me pay for the wedding …”  
“Oh Miss!” Mary gasped, “I can’t ask for that!”  
“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Phryne smiled.  
“We don’t want anything flashy,” she fiddled with her handkerchief, “church, yes, after that …”  
“I shall find a suitable venue for a celebration with whoever you want to celebrate with.” Phryne sensed the girl’s embarrassment.  
“Just … just family, Miss Fisher, and may I beg a favour?”  
“Go on,” Phryne encouraged.  
“Would you mind awfully if Miss Aurelie was my bridesmaid, or flower girl, without her …”  
“Try and stop her,” Phryne laughed, “who’s going to give you away?”  
Mary blushed, “I really have no idea.”  
Phryne said she would give the matter some thought and then wished her well. As Mary left the parlour she mused on the situation. It was true she had envisioned such a scene and had already made up her mind that when it did come to pass she would offer as much support as she could, and if that was to host the reception party then she would.  
Phryne chose to tell the family about Mary before Jack came from the station. It didn’t mean much to Johnny, he had little to do with her, other than as a fellow resident of Wardlow, Dot and Mr Butler were delighted for her but Aurelie was confused. So Phryne took her into the parlour to explain that Mary would be leaving the house when she became Mrs Bruce Adamson. Aurelie wasn’t happy, her bottom lip trembled, Mary had been with her for quite some time and if she didn’t live with them how would she see her friend Sammy?  
“Well, Miss,” Phryne pulled her onto her knee, “Mary will still come by, take you for a walk at the weekends sometimes, and they can all come over for lunch occasionally so you will see her. Now,” she kissed her cheek, “we have to plan a wedding and a party afterwards. Mary would like you to be here bridesmaid, that means you get to be there, in church, wear a special frock and have a posy of flowers. You will walk behind her when she goes into the church.” This cheered the little girl somewhat, that she would have a part to play.  
“When, Maman?”  
“We don’t know just yet, ma petite,” Phryne smiled, “there is a lot to do and Mary and Mr Adamson need to find a church that has the time to do the service. We have to send out invitations to the ones that they want to attend, Mary has to have a new dress …”  
“It must be a very pretty one,” Aurelie decided.  
“And white,” Phryne smiled.  
“OK,” Aurelie nodded.  
Phryne knew there would be more questions but for now the little girl was satisfied.

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Perpetua had sobbed her way through her statement so much so that she had given Jack a headache and only the thought of a pleasant evening ahead with his son (still pinching himself) and the rest of the family kept him sane.  
“Sir,” Collins poked his head round the door, “A Mrs Clemmie Martin to see you.”  
“Sorry Collins,” he frowned, “did you say Clemmie Martin?”  
“Yes, sir, is there a problem?”  
“Send her in, and tea for both of us, please,” Jack rubbed his temple, now he had to deal with Rosie’s sister – it never rained but it poured.  
“Clemmie,” he stood politely and offered her a seat, “to what do I owe this pleasure.” In truth he had always liked Clemmie, she was sweet and kind, generous and always trying to keep out of the way of her father and elder sister.  
“I’m sure you don’t deem it a pleasure, Jack,” she sat down and accepted the tea Hugh brought in, “you have arrested my father and sister, after all.”  
“Word gets round,” he mused, “I suppose you want to know why.”  
“It would help,” she hummed.  
He told her, not in a detailed way, the reason Rosie and her father were behind bars. As he went through the whole sorry story her expression changed to one of incredulity, shock and finally extreme sadness, and he hadn’t even mentioned Johnny.  
“So my sister and father are white slavers, as is her fiancé, Jack,” she put her cup on his desk, “it’s like a novel, a rather bad one, but a novel all the same. I really can’t believe it.”  
“I should have known something was not right when Fletcher and George sent Mrs Stanley packing at the New Year ball, telling her that she didn’t need to bother with their charities – or whatever - she was quite put out. I have seen a side to your sister I would never have expected.”  
“Rosie has always been a bit down on those less fortunate that her,” Clemmie sighed, “I suppose she would think nothing of where Sidney got his money from, as long as she was well treated and had nice things, but this is heinous.” She looked down at her fingers, “Jack, I am sorry.”  
“You have nothing to apologise for, Clemmie,” he sighed, and really, she didn’t, but, “there is one thing you may be able to help me with, though.”  
“Really, what can I do?”  
“Tell me about Rosie’s pregnancy, while I was in Poziéres,” he leant forward.  
“Because the baby died at birth she asked me not to tell you. But,” Clemmie would find out later how he had found out, “she whined, a lot. Sadly she did suffer quite badly from morning sickness for the first three months or so, then she just complained she couldn’t find anything to wear, or that she couldn’t get a food she particularly craved, but medically the doctor said she was quite well. She was on her own when she gave birth in the nursing home and wouldn’t allow anyone to come and see her until she came home. But she came home without a baby, just said he died and refused to talk about it. How did you find out?”  
“Clemmie, oh Clemmie,” Jack rubbed his face, “she left the baby at an orphanage. It was by chance he was found on the ship we raided. Miss Fisher found him hiding in a pile of bags of sugar, she went back to the orphanage to get his details so she could find him a better home and there it was, in black and white, his parents Rosie and me, she told the nuns I died at Poziéres. He’s staying with me at Miss Fisher’s at the moment, Rosie took so much of the furniture I don’t have a bed for him, until next week.”  
Clemmie had gone pale, she gritted her teeth in anger and tears ran down her cheeks. She had children, two – a boy and a girl – and she loved them. She and her husband were not wealthy, but they were comfortable and the children wanted for nothing. To give a baby away because it wasn’t wanted …  
“She’s no sister of mine,” she sniffed. “What’s he like, your son?”  
“Miss Fisher and everyone else say he’s like me, same hair and eyes, quiet and thoughtful, they say, his name is John, we call him Johnny. We haven’t told him about Rosie, and I don’t know what I’ll say when he asks, I don’t want to lie to him but to tell him the truth …” he sighed, “though he does know about the case and he saw her on the ship at one time, with the Captain. I can’t see anything of Rosie in him.”  
Clemmie thought he probably didn’t want to but made no comment.  
“I’d like to meet him, one day,” she smiled.   
Jack liked Clemmie, he always had, probably because she wasn’t the favourite daughter and belittled by her father and elder sister and agreed that one day he would introduce her.  
“It would be nice for him to know his cousins.”   
“Well,” she stood up, “I had come here to visit them and commiserate with a miscarriage of justice, Jack, but I think I shall distance myself instead. I’m sure you will keep me informed of any developments …”  
“We are just getting the case ready for court, Clemmie,” he stood ready to escort her out, “they have seen their solicitors to put their defence, all we can do now is wait. The judge has agreed that they are a flight risk so will be kept in the jail until their trial. Needless to say, Rosie created about that. They will be kept in solitary confinement, particularly your father. As a police officer he will be in danger of not making it to trial if left in the general population.”  
“Father was so pleased with himself when he took over as Commissioner,” she observed.  
“Well, he blackmailed Commissioner Hall, who is now back in post,” Jack shrugged, “much to the relief of the Minister.”  
“Ernest Hall is a good man,” she agreed, “we met him at a soiree Rosie organised. She insisted we attend; I think she wanted to embarrass us but Andrew is stronger than she thinks. Hall was most generous with his time and interest in the way education is going these days.”  
“Sounds like him,” he smiled, “it was nice to see you, Clemmie, even under these circumstances.”  
“You too, Jack, you take care of yourself, and that boy of yours, I look forward to meeting him in the fulness of time.”  
She kissed his cheek and wiped the trace of lipstick off with her thumb. “Don’t want Miss Fisher thinking you have strayed,” she laughed.  
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he opened the door, remembering that his close association with the Lady Detective that had been commented on by Hall, seems it had spread quite far. He would speak to Phryne about inviting Clemmie over - one day.  
Of course, now he had to tell Johnny about his mother. He only knew that he had been sent to an orphanage because she couldn’t take care of him, with his father fighting overseas, but the truth would be all over the papers soon enough, he couldn’t continue to say, “no comment” every time a reporter stopped by the station and asked pertinent questions about the arrest of the new commissioner, his daughter and her fiancé. He really didn’t know what to say, how to explain that his mother was not a nice person, that she had done something so bad she was likely to go to prison for it. He groaned inwardly about it and wondered if Phryne could help him in this regard, maybe use her relationship with René to show that Aurelie seems to have survived without a father, who was a bad lot.

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The situation Jack worried about came home to him as he stepped into the kitchen, Johnny was crying over a portion of the newspaper lying on the table. The reporter who kept skulking around the station had obviously caught a young, green constable and encouraged him to spill the beans.  
“Pa?” Johnny looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve, “is it true, she is my mother?”  
Jack, swallowed and opened his arms, “Oh, son,” he groaned, “I am so sorry, I so wished it was different, that I could have found a way to tell you the truth, but, yes, Rosie Sanderson and I were married, once. I had no idea she was expecting when I went away to a war I never wanted to fight,” Jack drew him the parlour, hoping it was empty – and it was, “Johnny, I am very angry, about what Rosie did, concealing your existence, we were hoping for children, planning a family when I enlisted, I thought it was what she wanted, but it seems I was mistaken. Johnny, never for one moment did I think she would have passed over our child like that, and I celebrate the day Miss Fisher found you hiding on the ship. I have thirteen years to make up to you, for all you have missed … never think her thoughts were mine, because they weren’t and they aren’t. You are my son, I love you. You know,” he went on, reluctant to stop even though he thought he was rambling, “Miss Fisher lived with a man in Paris, Aurelie’s father; he was abusive, he hurt her and would have hurt Aurelie but she escaped that, decided to bring Aurelie up the best way she could, without resources except her wits, and we must admit, that little girl is a credit to her mother.”  
“So,” Johnny rubbed his face, “not all families are a mother, a pa and a kid?”  
“No, son, they aren’t. Mary is marrying a man who has a son, but his wife is dead, many families are missing one parent or another, due to war, illness or criminal activity … you are going to stay with me, because that is where you should be. We may argue, we may disagree, but I will never stop loving you …”  
“Pa?”  
“Yes, son.”  
“Thank you, I always wondered what my father would be like, it was nothing like you, I never imagined someone would love me like you do, I never thought I would be a part of a family …”  
“Technically that family is just you and me, but …”  
“Maybe we can include Miss Fisher and Mr Butler and …”  
“All that live or spend time here,” Jack laughed, “I think we can, Johnny, I think we can.” Jack didn’t think this was the end of the matter, he envisioned further discussion, calm and heated, but at least he thought Johnny was secure – for now.

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The conversation at dinner centred mainly on Mary’s forthcoming nuptials and who would play what part. Jack didn’t think he would be involved, or Johnny, but he hoped he would be invited to attend. Mary was sweet, he appreciated she seemed not to mind Johnny being around and Aurelie wanting to be around him, and she was very caring of her charge.  
“Mary doesn’t want a big affair,” Phryne smiled, “just church and her family around, which I think is fitting – I am awaiting Mr Adamson’s visit to declare his intentions, then we shall go forward from there.”  
“It’s generous of you, Phryne,” Jack hummed, “to pay for the wedding.”  
“Well, Jack it is customary for the bride’s family to pay for the wedding, and as we are her only family here, I am happy to arrange whatever she wants.”  
“Can I make a suggestion, or rather an observation?”  
“Your input is valued on all subjects, Inspector,” she smiled, “and having been the groom at one time I value your opinion.”  
“Mr Adamson is not a wealthy man?”  
“No, he works for a shipping company, not Fletchers,” she hastily added, “in the offices.”  
“So, as a penniless constable back in nineteen-twelve when I was engaged to be married, the bride’s family spent rather a lot on the affair. Rosie’s dress, the bridesmaids, flowers, the reception …”  
“Goodness, Jack,” she gasped, “that sounds a little thoughtless, what rank was Sanderson?”  
“Same as I am now, Detective Inspector,” he shrugged.  
“So not exactly rolling in it,” she huffed.  
“No, and looking back I found the whole thing rather overwhelming …” he sighed and Phryne felt for him, to her it seemed as if the poor lad, as he was then, was rather railroaded into marriage. She could have understood if he had got Rosie in the family way before the wedding, maybe, but even then, it should have been a quieter show.  
“Mr Adamson has been married before, as well,” Phryne added, “so I can’t see him wanting anything too extravagant.”  
“No,” Jack shook his head.  
Both Johnny and Aurelie had decided that the conversation was way over their heads and excused themselves as soon as they could politely do so.  
“Reception?” he raised his eyebrows.  
“I thought, that if it is only family maybe here, if Mr Butler doesn’t mind the extra work.”  
“Knowing him he’s already started working out the menu and preparing the cake,” Jack laughed.  
“Highly likely.”  
Jack thought he ought to bring up the subject of Clemmie’s visit, ask her what she thought.  
“Oh,” she sipped her whisky, “well, I suppose she was bound to find out sooner or later.”  
“Quite, Clemmie was always more for her mother than her father, and he wasn’t too pleasant to her, most of the time. She’s very different to Rosie, her and Andrew are comfortably off with two children around Johnny’s age. Andrew is a schoolmaster, in Ballarat, but Rosie was always trying to put him down, no prospects she said.”  
“Is he a good schoolmaster?” Phryne asked.  
“I always thought he was a kind man; I have never seen him teach but he seemed to enjoy his position and he was kind to his own children. I haven’t seen them for some time, but I don’t imagine they have changed that much. Clemmie said Rosie invited them to a function in the hope of embarrassing them but Andrew held his own and had a conversation with Commissioner Hall, I think they got on well, from what Clemmie said. I was wondering about how I should introduce her to Johnny, she said she’d like to meet him, one day.” Jack stared into his glass and swirled the amber liquid round.  
“Let’s get the case out of the way and the wedding over and perhaps we could invite them over for lunch, one weekend,” Phryne touched his knee.   
Jack noticed she said ‘we’, as if their relationship was more solid than he assumed, but more as he hoped. He tied himself in knots thinking about it – especially now.

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In the kitchen, Mr Butler, Mary and Dot, together with the children were talking about the forthcoming wedding – unsurprisingly. Mary didn’t want a fuss, Mr Butler said he would stick to two layers for the cake, in that case, and the buffet would be simple dishes that everyone liked. Aurelie requested strawberries and chocolate, and ice cream, Johnny wanted sausage rolls, because Mr Butler made the best he’d ever tasted;  
“And dad will eat anything you put in front of him, I’m told,” he laughed.  
“Indeed, Master Johnny, he will, and I think you are pretty much the same,” the older man looked at him and smiled.  
“Mr Butler,” Mary had been watching him and thinking. He had been ever so kind to her from the moment they met when Miss Fisher went to Ballarat to collect her car, he made her feel a special kind of loved, like a father would. She barely remembered her father, he had been killed in a farming accident when she was around six years of age, and her mother had tried very hard to keep them all together as a family, Mary and her two sisters and two brothers; Mary, being the eldest had been the first to go out to work, straight to the Fisher estate first as a scullery maid then a kitchen maid and finally the maid who would look after Aurelie, “Mr Butler,” she touched his arm, “I wondered if I may ask a favour of you?”  
“Why, Miss Mary,” he smiled, “you can always ask anything of me, if I can help you know I will.”  
“I know, and you have been so very kind to me, since I arrived with Miss Fisher, so, I wondered, as I don’t have a father – would you give me away, at my wedding, please?”  
Tobias Butler sat down with a thump, this was not what he expected; he felt a warm buzz in his bones, his heart leapt in his chest and for a moment he felt light-headed.  
“Mr B? Mr Butler, are you alright?” Mary thought he had been taken suddenly ill, though she didn’t remember him even suffering from the slightest cold.  
“Oh, my dear Miss Mary,” he patted her hand, “no indeed, I am just so surprised you would deem me the right person for such a position – something I never thought would come to pass. As you know Mrs Butler and I were never blessed with children, and now you ask me to step into your father’s shoes – or even those of a brother, I am honoured, deeply honoured.”  
“So, you will?” she sat opposite him and held his hand.  
“With the greatest of pleasure my dear girl, the greatest pleasure indeed,” he beamed through tear filled eyes.  
“Oh, Mr Butler, thank you,” she bent and kissed his cheek, “thank you, thank you so very much!”

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The very next day, Mr Adamson called on The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher during his lunch hour. Miss Fisher had set him right over his son, Sammy, so he considered her a slightly daunting woman, the idea of setting out his prospects in order to have her agree he could marry her nursery maid, made him feel slightly nauseous – what if she said no? Mary had said she was eminently reasonable and kind and had everybody’s happiness at her heart but all he knew was the way she had reprimanded him over the treatment of his son, when his own grief at losing his wife was still rather raw. The man that greeted him at the door, Mr Butler, Mary had said his name was, was kind and gracious as he announced him and ushered him into the parlour. The room was much grander than anything he could give Mary and, though she had been to his little cottage, he still hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed at leaving such beautiful premises.  
“Mr Adamson,” Phryne looked up and smiled one of her most beatific smiles, “how lovely to see you again, do sit down,” she indicated the chair opposite her. Seeing as how he seemed rather nervous – clasping and unclasping his hands she sought to put him at his ease and said how nice it was that he and Sammy had entertained her daughter in the park.  
“It was our pleasure entirely, Mrs Fisher,” still insisting she was a married, or at least a widowed, woman, “she, Miss Aurelie that is, is a perfectly charming little girl.” He cleared his throat and started on the little speech he had tried to formulate in his head the previous evening and that morning, “Mrs Fisher, I think you know why I have come here – today …”  
She nodded politely.  
“I love Mary, I think I might have done since the first time I saw her in the park, she is such a sweet natured girl, and I know I will never be a rich man, though if riches were counted in love, I would be a millionaire …”  
Phryne wondered if he had been reading one of Isis Baggott’s books the sentiments were a little saccharine for her tastes.  
“… still I will never be a rich man, in money terms, I think I can make her happy, in my little cottage with Sammy, she will never want for anything she needs …”  
“Mr Adamson,” she held up her hand, more to stop the poor man embarrassing himself than anything, “you have asked Mary to be your wife, and she has accepted your proposal. I am glad, I think I have seen it coming for a while, and if it is my consent you are looking for then, I agree. I told Mary I am happy for her but should anything go awry or wrong in any way I shall always be available for her, or you or Sammy. She has no family over here, except those of us that inhabit this house or are part of our, slightly disjointed, family, and her mother is not able to come over here due to ill health, so I would deem it an honour if you would allow me to pay for the ceremony, and a little reception party here. Mary says she only wants a quiet wedding and that is her prerogative.”  
“We have discussed that, and I am deeply touched that you would do that for her, a maid in your employ …”  
“Family, I said, Mr Adamson, and I meant it, and the bride’s family traditionally pays for the wedding,” she smiled, “and it is my absolute pleasure.”  
He blushed and saw there was no going back on that, “she was worried about who would give her away, in church.”  
“Ah, yes, well she has found someone who she feels will fill the role rather nicely. My butler, the man who let you in. He had no children with his late wife and has been nothing but a father figure to Mary, so she tells me, and I believe he was a little overwhelmed when she asked him last night – over the idea of only two layers for the cake – and that’s already being made!”  
“You are all so kind, yet you barely know me,” he gasped.  
“Four weeks on a ship, Mr Adamson, and I feel I know you well enough to make a judgement,” Phryne smiled, “and I trust Aurelie to know a good person when she meets them. She’s very fond of Sammy.”  
Mr Adamson left shortly after, assured that Mary would be his wife and that they both had the support of The Honourable Phryne Fisher.

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Jack’s day was not going as pleasantly as Phryne’s. Rosie had kicked and screamed at the constables, two of them, burly fellows Jack usually used to subdue drunks and rowdy demonstrators, leaving them both with bruised shins and one of them with a nasty set of scratches down his face. In the end Jack had stood in front of her and told her that if she didn’t desist from such behaviour that instant, he would add assault of a police officer to the list of her crimes. He handcuffed her himself and dragged her unceremoniously to the van that was to take her to the women’s end of the jail. Sanderson went with his head held high as if he was still in charge and Fletcher just sneered at Jack and followed him out of the back of the station. They would not get the satisfaction of speaking to the press amassed outside the doors of City South Police Station to put their case and damn the Inspector.  
Jack’s next step was to find the green constable that had leaked his connection to George and Rosie and have him on traffic duty for the next six months. The lad stood shaking in front of his superior officer, younger than Hugh Collins had been when he first graced the inside of Jack’s office.  
“Never, ever give a statement to the press without the express orders of your Inspector,” Jack snapped, “you could jeopardise the investigation, have the wrong story printed and put people’s lives in danger. Anyone in the jail will be on the look-out for these three even though they will be in solitary confinement until the trial. Your only comment whenever you are asked a question by a reporter is ‘no comment’ or at the most ‘the investigation is ongoing’, now get out and see Collins, he has filing that needs doing then you will be on traffic duty until I say otherwise – go!”  
He hoped he wouldn’t muck up traffic duty, or try to arrest Miss Fisher for speeding but it was the only job he could think of for him at this time.  
The court case was going to be difficult. He and Phryne were bound to be called to give evidence, and his connection to Sanderson and Rosie would be picked over, as would his relationship with Miss Fisher. He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, this was the bright side of his life, Phryne and Johnny and Aurelie too … Phryne and the children … it seemed so normal, domesticated, right, but he had to get the case out of the way first. 

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Over the next couple of weeks, while space was made for the trial, Jack and Phryne continued to work on other, less traumatic, cases. A tutor was engaged for Johnny for the time being in order to get him up to the standard required by the grammar school Jack would like him to attend. Aurelie started school and settled in after a few days, and Mary and Bruce set a date three months hence, there were no idle hands in the households.  
The day came when the furniture was ready to be delivered to Jack’s bungalow. Johnny wasn’t sure what to think. He’d been over to the house with his father and with Dot, who had cleaned the place from top to bottom, and he thought it was a nice house, though smaller than Miss Fisher’s. It would be quieter, he thought, just him and Pa in the evenings, he’d never had quiet. There was a place to store his new bike, Jack had kept to his promise to buy him one and teach him to ride it. They mapped out a route between Bell Street and Wardlow that was safe and a route between the school and both houses, and if Jack had to pick him up from Wardlow the bike would fit in the back of the car.  
The bed was installed and made up with new, fresh linen. A small bookshelf held the books Johnny had shown an interest in and a wardrobe held the clothes Phryne had bought for him, plus more that Jack had purchased. A small rug lay at the side of the bed, as well as a little alarm clock on the bedside cabinet and a light he could read by.  
The couch Jack and Phryne had chosen fitted nicely in the living room and she had gifted him a couple of side tables and a plain, but elegant set of decanters for his whisky and any other drinks he cared to have on the side board. Dot had made some covers for the cushions and all in all it was a pleasant, cosy room.  
“Lovely, Jack,” Phryne smiled, “most … most inviting.”  
He nuzzled into her neck, two weeks of being together had made him bolder in his attentions out of the bedroom, “and you are invited, Miss Fisher,” he whispered, “you can help me christen it very soon, I hope.”  
She smirked, “Inspector,” she whispered, “whatever do you take me for?”  
He squeezed her bum in answer, Johnny was putting his clothes away, that was about as far as he was willing to go – just now.

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Phryne knew that Jack and Johnny needed the space to get to know each other properly so leaving them alone was her only option – but it didn’t mean she had to like it. She saw Jack at the station to discuss cases, or to go over their evidence and statements for the trial of Fletcher and Sanderson. Phryne had engaged a lawyer for the girls that they had rescued, one that she hoped would run rings round Fletcher’s, and he had compiled their evidence and listed who they could call to give a clear account of the dealings. Rosie’s lawyer kept calling to see if he could get her out of the prison and under house arrest but Jack was having none of it and the judge who would hear the case agreed with him. She made loud, vociferous death threats against Miss Fisher and it was deemed dangerous to all involved if she were to be allowed out.  
Johnny continued his studies with the tutor during the day and rode his bicycle in his spare time, usually to Wardlow where he would be given a snack at least, and Jack would collect him after work and take him home. It was after one of these trips that he was seen by someone who wished him harm, and those he had come to love.

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Johnny swung up the path and round to the back of the bungalow. He pushed his bike into the shed and closed the door. His key was in his pocket, he let himself into the kitchen and took his jumper off, laying it over the back of one of the chairs. He poured himself a glass of milk and went to settle down in the living room and read, he had got to a particularly interesting part of his story and longed to find out if Jim Hawkins would escape the clutches of Long John Silver. He did not hear the kitchen door open or the soft footfall of an intruder, so deep into his book he was. Suddenly a hand was over his mouth and he was yanked up onto his feet and spun round.  
His eyes widened with fear as he stared at Captain De Vere, red faced with anger.  
“I want the Fisher woman,” he snarled, Johnny blanched at his foul breath, “you will ring her and get her to come here – or else …”  
Johnny didn’t really want to know what the ‘’or else’ was but he also didn’t want to lure Miss Phryne into a trap, so he had to warn her.  
“How?” he gulped.  
“Tell her you need her,” De Vere hissed, “that you don’t want to be alone.”  
Now, Johnny knew full well that Phryne wouldn’t believe him, he was quite happy being on his own in the bungalow and she knew if he didn’t want to be alone, he would ride over the Wardlow. That in itself should be enough to warn her that all was not well, as long as he phrased it right. He trembled as he dialled the number and waited for someone to answer. It was Dot.  
“Miss Williams,” he sighed, “could I speak to Miss Fisher please?”  
Dot blinked, he always called her ‘Dot’ and her mistress ‘Miss Phryne’, so something was afoot, she said she would just get her.

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“It’s odd, Miss,” Dot was saying as they headed to the hall, “he always calls me by my first name and you Miss Phryne.”  
“Apart from that, Dot dear,” Phryne stopped, “how did he sound?”  
“I can’t put my finger on it, but he didn’t sound himself, a bit nervous – and Johnny doesn’t really get nervous, not like that.”  
“Dot, can you get my pistol, my knife and if I have to leave, alert Jack, please.”  
“Yes Miss,” Dot turned at the dining room door and headed up the stairs. She heard Phryne commiserate with Johnny and asked him why he didn’t cycle over.  
“A punctured tyre? Well I do think your father should teach you how to repair them, next time. No worries, Johnny, I will just get my bag and keys and drive over.” She put the phone down and thought, something was amiss, Dot was right.

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Johnny stood in the middle of the room as asked, and waited. He hoped Miss Phryne had got the message, at least she usually carried that little gold pistol in her bag, and if she was just going over to pick him up it was unlikely she would bother with her bag. De Vere stood in the doorway to the hall, pointing a gun at Johnny, who was sure that at some point, if not immediately, he was in danger of being shot, and being shot most times led to death; he bit his lip as he felt tears form at the corner of his eyes, he wasn’t ready to die.  
The door lock clicked, Jack and Phryne had exchanged front door keys when the prospect of him returning to his home had got close. Johnny heard her close the door behind her and call out his name. Before he could answer De Vere stepped into her line of sight.  
“Captain,” she smiled, Johnny could hear it in her voice, “how delightful to see you again.”   
De Vere waved her into the living room with his gun. “Miss Fisher,” he sneered, “you took something of mine.”  
“I wasn’t aware that people were property, Captain De Vere,” she smiled and nodded to Johnny, trying to make the young lad feel safer.  
“I had buyers for those girls,” he growled.  
“Again, I don’t believe girls can be bought or sold,” she raised her chin, “that’s slavery, abolished many years ago, Captain.”  
“My business is not your business, Miss Fisher,” he drew himself up, and he was an imposing figure, but Phryne was not intimidated, “now, how are you going to compensate me?”  
“I’m not,” she fussed looking in her bag, “you are going to join your ‘friends’ in prison, for a very long time.” She withdrew her hand and pointed her pearl handled gold pistol at him, “I warn you, I am a very good shot. Perhaps you should put down your gun.”  
He made to grab for Johnny, who ducked and ran over to Phryne.  
“Outside Johnny, dear,” she smiled, “go on.” She pushed him towards the doorway.  
“Miss Phryne?”  
“Out, lad, I don’t want you to get hurt.” She never took her eyes off De Vere. De Vere lunged as the boy scuttled past him and down the hallway but seeing he wasn’t going to get his hostage back he aimed at Phryne and pulled the trigger …  
Phryne rolled to one side and fired. De Vere crumpled to the floor as she gasped and held her hand to her side.  
“Pa!” Johnny screamed as his father drew up, “Pa, Miss Phryne …!”  
Jack flew past, seeing his son was alright and threw himself into the living room, his revolver aimed at whoever was standing. No one was standing; De Vere was on the floor, bleeding from a wound to his stomach, he was dying, there was nothing Jack could do for him and really, deep down he didn’t want to be bothered. He looked over at Phryne who was now kneeling on the floor, blood seeping through her finger from a wound over her left hip. She was pale and breathing hard.  
“Phryne,” he was down beside her in an instant, “here,” he took out his handkerchief and placed it over her hand, “let me. Johnny, call Dr Mac, and an ambulance!”  
All the important numbers Jack may need were on a pad by the phone and it took Johnny no time to locate both numbers and dial them. Mac first, and his gasping, breathy voice had her grab her bag and run out of her office, telling anyone who was in her way that she had an emergency and to move it!  
In the living room, Jack had lain Phryne on the couch and was holding the handkerchief over the top wound and a cushion underneath her – the bullet had gone right through.  
“Phryne,” he hissed, “come on, love, stay with me, eyes open, Phryne, look at me.”  
She gave him a pained and watery smile, “Johnny?” she whispered.  
“He’s fine, Mac’s on the way, Jeez, Phryne, why didn’t you wait?” Jack’s eyes filled with tears at the thought this might be the end.  
“Johnny, he’s your son, Jack, I couldn’t,” she coughed.  
“Shh, lie still, but stay with me, please,” he bent and kissed her forehead.  
“That the best you can do, Inspector,” she tried her best at levity, but her pallid complexion and the beads of sweat on her forehead didn’t fool him for one minute, she was in excruciating pain, but he had to keep her awake until Mac came. From what he could see the wound wasn’t in a dangerous place, no vital organs but a blood vessel may well have been nicked.

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Mac burst through the door and flew into the living room. She pulled up short at the sight of so much blood, then realised that is wasn’t all Phryne’s, much of it belonged to the deceased man lying on the floor. One brief glance told her she was not here as coroner but as a doctor.  
“Mac,” Jack tried to step away but Phryne wouldn’t let go of his hand, “it’s ok, love,” he whispered, “Mac’s here, let her have look, please.”  
Phryne turned her head and offered a small, pained smile, “Hey, Mac,” she swallowed, “seems I’ve had a bit of an accident.”  
“Huh,” Mac perched on the edge of the couch and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves, she hoped it looked worse than it actually was, but with Phryne it was always hard to tell from her demeanour. “Straight through, I see,” she moved Jack’s hand, “you best find the bullet, Inspector,” she thought that way he could make himself useful and not get in her way. She drew up an injection, of pain relief, before setting to prodding and probing, tutting and humming until she had found that the wound was not life-threatening. Once stitched up the bleeding stopped. She didn’t want her moved too much so when Jack suggested he carry her to his bedroom and she could be properly cleaned up there, the slightly woozy and giggly Lady Detective agreed.  
“Who’s going to undress me,” she sniggered.  
“What did you give her?” Jack raised his eyebrows as he gently lifted Phryne off the couch.  
“Bit of morphine,” Mac shrugged, “she should sleep well and without much pain.”

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When Hugh Collins arrived, there was only the matter of the corpse to deal with. Jack had summoned Dot, asking her to bring Miss Fisher’s clean nightwear and toiletries and Mac had talked to Johnny, checked he hadn’t been hurt and told him he was very brave and resourceful to do what he did, the way he alerted Dot.  
“She will be alright, won’t she?” he searched her face for any signs of worry.  
“Right as ninepence,” Mac grinned, “she bled a lot but that’s ok, it wasn’t as much as we thought. Some of the blood we saw was his …”  
“Captain De Vere’s,” Johnny pouted and shoved his hands in his pockets, “he was the one who’s ship was taking the girls. He said Miss Fisher had taken something of his and she said people weren’t for sale, it was slavery and slavery has been abolished.”  
“She’s right, too,” Mac nodded, “people are not to be sold like a pound of potatoes or a dozen eggs …”

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It wasn’t daylight or pain that woke her but the cry of a child in distress. She tried to sit up but a searing pain shot across the top of her hips and she gasped.  
“Hey,” Jack sat up and touched her shoulder, “lie down, it’s Johnny, a nightmare I expect.”  
“What?” she blinked, “oh, god, poor boy, De Vere didn’t hurt him, did he?”  
“No, but, well he’s bound to be a bit scared,” he got out of bed and pulled on his robe, “mind if he comes in here?”  
“No,” she recalled Aurelie spending nights in her bed and it wasn’t as if she was able to ravish Jack at the moment, and she appeared to be acceptably attired.

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Johnny was sitting up in bed, blinking, when Jack entered his bedroom. In the moonlight shining through his window he was white and shaking.  
“Hey, son,” Jack sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his cheek, “Johnny, it’s ok, we’re all ok,” he kept his voice soft and low, “Johnny?”  
“Pa?” Johnny turned to him, “is …is Miss Phryne …?”  
“She’s ok, sore, but she will be fine,” he soothed.  
“I didn’t know what to do,” the boy sniffed.  
“You did exactly what you should have done, son,” Jack ran his hand over his head, “and because of you she is alive.”  
“But I didn’t do anything,” he insisted.  
“You made the phone calls, you called Hugh when I arrived and saw Phryne and De Vere, you rang who I asked you to, and that was vitally important. I am really proud of you, son, most children of your age would have panicked and either run away or stood there dumb – but you didn’t.” Jack hugged him, “now, do you want to stay here or come in with me, though Phryne is there too.”  
“I’ll stay here, Pa,” Johnny blushed, “it’ll be a bit tight, the three of us.”  
Jack ruffled his hair and tucked him back in.  
“Night, son.”  
“Night, Pa.”

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Over the next few days Phryne stayed with Jack. Dot came over each morning to see to her bathing and brought her fresh pyjamas and food for them all; Mac was there each morning and evening to check on her impatient patient, and generally declared her to be healing as well as she should be.  
“If you can stand to be in a car you can go home,” she told Phryne, “but no lifting Aurelie or driving yourself.”  
Phryne huffed, mainly about the driving rather than lifting her daughter, but if she couldn’t drive, she wouldn’t be able to pick Aurelie up from school.  
“You could have Mr Butler drive for you,” Mac suggested, “or the Red Raggers could take you in the cab.”  
She supposed that would have to do, but she didn’t have to like it. Mac just said she wasn’t surprised but it showed she was not as badly injured as had first been thought.

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Once back at Wardlow she felt better, in a way, because she was not causing Jack problems, getting in his way or stopping him from getting to work on time. He denied it, of course, but what she did not know was that he was perfectly happy to have her recovering there, because he could see she was alright.  
The Commissioner called to take her statement of the incident, mainly because Aunt Prudence had huffed that she hoped it wouldn’t be some ‘wet behind the ears’ constable who would blab to the papers that she was staying with Inspector Robinson and add fuel to the rumours that there was more to the relationship than anyone was admitting to.  
“Self-defence, my dear,” he smiled over a cup of tea and scones, “no case to answer. He had to have shot you first because he couldn’t have shot you after you fired the fatal shot. Dr Macmillan said he died instantly.”  
“He did go down with rather a loud thump,” she sighed, “I was more worried for Johnny.”  
“Of course, Jack’s boy,” he hummed, “quite the lad, I hear.”  
“Very like how I imagine Jack to have been at about the same age,” she agreed, “able to keep his cool in the situation, though he has had at least one nightmare.”  
“To be expected,” he shrugged. “Now, the trial is next week, do you feel ready for it?”  
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she shifted in her chair and winced, “the defence is weak, I believe.”  
He made no comment but, weak or otherwise, he didn’t think they’d be able to pull the wool over Miss Fisher’s eyes.

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The trial lasted just over a week. It would have been shorter but Rosie made things difficult, played on her femininity in front of the twelve good men and true that were the jury. She suffered two or three fainting episodes, which brought the trial to a halt for a day each time. Her involvement was confirmed by the evidence of her son, Johnny, who insisted, when he was asked, that he would say what he saw. It was implied, at first, by her lawyer, that he was put up to discredit the woman who had left him at an orphanage when she believed her husband to have been killed in France, but the fact that she did not admit to Jack when he returned that they had a son, went against her. When asked if he hated her, Johnny stated simply that he felt sorry for her but no, he didn’t hate her, he just didn’t love her.  
Phryne presented smartly and expensively dressed and gave her evidence politely, yet firmly. She did not argue or have fits of the vapours, shout or whine, she was perfectly professional. It went in her favour that she did not flutter her eyelashes at the jury or the judge.   
Sanderson denied he knew anything about Fletcher’s schemes, his dealings with the convent or the young women he was selling – he maintained that all he knew was that he was transporting sugar and other similar provisions. Fletcher, on the other hand, told the court that it was Sanderson’s idea, that he knew of a way to get girls that could be sold overseas. Orphans that were taking up space in a convent without taking vows. Much more profitable than the usual cargo. As a high-ranking police officer, he knew who would be amenable to such trade.   
In the end Fletcher admitted that he had wooed Miss Sanderson in order to ensure his prospective father-in-law would not be able to investigate, or set an investigation into, the disappearance of young girls because he was now complicit. They had only told Rosie enough to stop her pestering them after Mrs Stanley had asked if there was anything she could do, or any of her charity collaborators could do, to help in their endeavours. Rosie had not worried about the trade, after all, she got nice dresses and pretty jewellery.  
With the deaths of two girls taken into account, Fletcher was jailed for life, Sanderson for twenty-five years and Rosie for five years. Rosie got the shorter sentence because of her lesser involvement.

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“I can’t see Sanderson surviving long in prison, not even in solitary,” Jack stared into his whisky, “Fletcher will never see the outside world again …”  
“Rosie?”  
“Will be released at the end of her sentence, I don’t know what she will do.” Jack swallowed the sharp drink, “Clemmie wants nothing to do with her, she is quite disgusted, there is no other family and most of her friends had disowned her …”  
“If you want to help her …” Phryne thought he might want to do something to ease her back into civilisation.  
“How?” he grunted, “she won’t speak to me, blames you and me for interfering.”  
“We did, Jack, if you look at it from her point of view,” Phryne reasoned.  
“But I can’t, what she did was wrong, condoning the sale of young girls, girls who should have found something more than the laundry, but none of them deserved that life, not a life as a slave to some eastern prince … “ he ran his hand through his hair, “maybe she will go to England, she has distant relatives there, perhaps she will make a fresh start there.”  
She felt for him; this was the woman he married as a green police officer, the woman who had born him a son, who years ago he imagined spending the rest of his life with and who had let him down so badly, hurt him with her treatment of their son – she reached over and touched his hand.  
“Sorry,” he shook his head, tipped the memories and lost hopes out of his head and replaced them with happier thoughts of his meeting with a certain lady detective sitting with him, “I should like to forget, as much as I can, about the whole sad story.” He smiled, “now, what about this wedding?”


	14. Autumn Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All sorts of happy things happen, then the Baron and Baroness, or mainly the Baroness wobble the scales.

It was a beautiful early autumn day, the perfect day to get married. The sun was still warm, the leaves had barely started to turn the rich reds and golds of the season, but best of all it wasn’t raining. Mary stretched and sighed, this was the last time she would wake up in this pretty room at Wardlow, for tonight she would be a married woman and sharing her bed with a man. Over the three months of preparing for the wedding she had worried somewhat about what being a wife meant. There were things she needed to know that her mother should tell her, but her mother was in England so she turned to the only person she could trust to tell her the truth about ‘relations’ – Miss Phryne Fisher.  
Phryne had not been surprised but she hadn’t wanted to give her the ‘mother of the bride’ talk, she hadn’t had that from her own mother, she had found out herself by various means – mainly talk and books – books were very useful. In a way she was grateful she would have the chance to practice this before Jane needed the same talk or Aurelie. She could of course past the ‘honour’ to Mac, as a doctor, but that wasn’t what Mary needed. And so, she had spent an hour or two in the parlour, over tea, talking to Mary about – well, things.  
She must have pitched it about right because before they were finished, they were both giggling like schoolgirls and Mary understood enough, and maybe a bit more than enough, to embark on married life with a pretty clear expectation on what was expected of her in the bedroom.  
Everything was ready, she and Dot had spent every spare minute on her trousseau, her wedding box; Miss Phryne had insisted on arranging for her to have a dress made by the House of Fleuri and contrary to the young girl’s worries it was not overblown or over expensive. She had chosen to wear a short dress, just below her knees. A slip of fine silk was overlayed with two layers of chiffon decorated with tiny seed pearls and crystals in flower shapes, and a scalloped hem. There was a satin sash that tied in a bow over her left hip. The sleeves were elbow length and loose fitting, also scalloped at the edges. The neckline was high and it fastened with tiny pearl buttons down the back. She decided against a veil, all the ones she tried annoyed her by floating around her face and tickling her, so Dot fashioned a sweet circlet of flowers for her hair, which would have the same seed pearls pinned into it. She would wear white mary-janes and white stockings.  
Aurelie was rather pleased with her dress. It was of the palest blue cotton voile over a cotton slip. Dot had suggested cotton because it would be easy to wash and she would be bound to want to wear it as often as she could. That aside the voile over-dress had a rounded yoke from which the body of the dress hung. Like the wedding dress it was scalloped at the hems and the same decoration was added around the bottom of the yoke, skirt and short sleeves. She was to wear flowers pinned in her curls and carry a little basket of flowers. She wore the same style shoes as Mary and stockings instead of her usual socks, which usually ended up in a wrinkle round her ankles.

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An easy morning preceded the preparations for the ceremony that was to be held at twelve-thirty in the Anglican church nearby.  
Mary, as usual, got Aurelie up and she was allowed to run around in the house in bare feet and a button up robe rather than being properly dressed. Mr Butler and Dot worked away in the kitchen finishing the preparations for the reception that would be held at Wardlow, the cake was decorated and waited in the pantry, champagne chilled in the refrigerator, serviettes were folded glasses, cutlery and flatware were polished to a blinding shine.   
Jack and Johnny had come over the night before to help with any preparations, which in Jack’s case meant wearing Phryne out making love until the small hours of the morning. They appeared later than the rest of the household and sat eating toast and drinking coffee in the parlour while Johnny amused Aurelie trying to build a house of cards.  
In line with Mary and Bruce’s wishes to have a small wedding surrounded by those they loved, the only ‘outsiders’ to be invited were Mrs Stanley and Arthur; everyone else was deemed to be ‘family’.  
And so it was, Phryne mused later to herself, the wedding she herself would want – should she ever decide to embark on such a journey – family only.

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Everything went perfectly smoothly. Mary entered the church on Mr Butler’s arm – he was the proudest butler in the entire world at that moment – Aurelie walked behind them as she had practiced both at home and during the rehearsal. Bruce stood with his son, Sammy, the youngest best man the vicar had ever seen, in fact he had been a little unsure about the youth of both the best man and the only bridesmaid, but Miss Fisher had assured him they were beautifully behaved – and they were.  
Mary turned to Aurelie and handed her the bouquet, Mr Butler handed Mary to Bruce and they set to making their vows. When the vicar ended by telling Bruce he may kiss the bride Mrs Stanley had a tear in her eye.  
By the time the photographs had been taken Aurelie was beginning to get a bit fidgety, she was hungry now and leant against her mother’s leg.  
Phryne lifted her up and settled her on her hip; she reached into her bag and produced a biscuit wrapped in a serviette.  
“Always prepared, Miss Fisher?” Jack murmured beside her.  
“I’m just glad she lasted this long,” she whispered back.  
“She’s done very well,” he agreed, “you should be proud of her.”  
“I am.”

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The buffet eaten, speeches were to be made. As Mary had no father or mother to speak about her Miss Fisher said a few well-chosen words about how resourceful, hard-working and kind Mary was. How she had been a most helpful member of the household and gentle nanny to Aurelie.  
Bruce stood and said how grateful he was to have come to Australia, and that it was because of his son falling in the pool on the ship that he had met Mary.  
“Through her, not only have I made friends, I also feel I have an extended family, if Miss Fisher doesn’t mind me being so bold.” Miss Fisher nodded her head in agreement. “You will all be most welcome at our little cottage, if ever you should be passing.”

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Sammy was to stay at Wardlow while his father and stepmother (who had vowed not to be a wicked stepmother of fairy tale fame) went on a short honeymoon to Sorrento. He would attend school as usual, ferried to and from by the Red Raggers, sleep in the room Mary had vacated and be fed by Mr Butler – almost a holiday for him.

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When Jack suggested he and Johnny go back to their little bungalow, two days after the wedding, Phryne pouted. It gave him some idea as to how she saw their relationship, or how she thought she saw it, and it rang the same with him. His only thought was how they could navigate the social side of things. The Commissioner knew theirs wasn’t a platonic relationship, Mrs Stanley was aware of how many rooms there were at Wardlow and it didn’t take a genius to work out who shared with who. She kept her thoughts to herself, knowing that Phryne had ‘entertained’ in the past.  
“Perhaps we should discuss this, Phryne,” he stroked her cheek, “but not now, not just after a wedding, it would colour the discussion.”  
“I suppose so,” she sighed heavily, “but don’t be in a rush to leave, Jack, not yet. You are off duty for another couple of days …”  
“Hm,” he frowned a little frown, “well, maybe until Johnny has taken his entrance exam for the grammar.”  
“He’s studying very hard, he should get in,” she smiled.  
“I hope so, I think it is the right school for him, he will do well.”  
“I expect you were a conscientious student, Jack,” she ran her fingers down his lapel.  
“Somehow I see you as playing rather a lot of pranks,” he put his hand over hers, “but you seem to have taken in quite a lot of what was taught.”  
“Declining Latin verbs was never particularly exciting,” she sighed.  
“However, you seem to have a good ear for languages, you speak French, Italian …”  
“Enough Italian to get by,” she admitted.  
“Russian?”  
She tipped her head and smiled, “you pick things up,” she hummed, “but my German is weak.”  
“Well I have to have one thing, don’t I?” he kissed the tip of her nose.  
“I have noticed you are a quick learner, though Jack,” she pressed closer, “in all things.”  
Jack coloured and cleared his throat, he had certainly learned how to please her, in many things.

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Johnny took his entrance exam to the Grammar School one cool morning, just before the newlyweds returned. He heaved a sigh of relief when it was all done, admitting to his father that it wasn’t easy but he had done his best.  
“That’s all I can ask of you, Johnny,” he patted his shoulder, “we have to wait a week for the results, but I thought you might like to go camping this weekend, if I don’t have a case, take the bikes and spend a little time outdoors.”  
“That sounds great, pa,” he grinned, “will Miss Phryne be coming?”  
“I thought just the two of us, son,” Jack shook his head, “we seem to have been surrounded by people recently …” by which he meant hardly seen him except at mealtimes and before bed. “… you’re always off doing something with Sammy and the Raggers …”  
“You don’t seem to mind being left with Miss Phryne,” Johnny laughed.  
“She is good company, I admit, but I sometimes think I have known her longer than I have known you …”  
“You have, but I understand,” Johnny stood in front of him, “she makes you happy, pa, so I don’t mind.”  
So they arranged that they would load up the bicycles with a few provisions and a bedroll each, Jack would add a suitable something to make a shelter out of and some fishing gear.  
“Catch our own dinner, son,” he grinned.  
Johnny had only seen fish on the slab in the fishmongers so he had no idea how they would prepare it or cook it, however, he trusted his father.

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“If anything happens and I am needed at the station here is where we shall be, Phryne,” he spread the map out on the dining room table, “you can come and get us.”  
“You will take care, won’t you?” she frowned, “I mean, dingos …”  
“We’ll be fine,” he smiled and held her close, “I’ll take my revolver if it makes you happier.” She sounded just like a wife, he thought.  
“It does,” she nodded, “and you have a knife?”  
“How else am I going to gut the fish,” he grinned. “Phryne …”  
“You need to do this, spend this time with Johnny, I completely understand …”  
“Really?”  
“Really,” she nodded emphatically, “it’s something you would have done with him for years had you been able to,” she smiled, “Aurelie and I may go shopping, she needs new shoes, I’m sure …”  
“…or you have seen some you like,” he teased.  
She tossed her head theatrically and tried not to smirk, she had seen a rather lovely pair of evening shoes that she needed a gown to go with – so she may need to go to the House of Fleuri – oh the trials of being a slave to fashion!

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They were exhilarated, both of them, Johnny from the cycle ride and excitement of being with his father, doing what Jack and his father had done years ago, and Jack from the cycle ride, the fresh air and being with his son.  
“Pa,” Johnny dismounted and stood looking around him, “it’s amazing, you can see for miles!”  
Jack just grinned and tipped the equipment onto the ground. He hoped the two trees he and his father had used to make their shelter were still there – a length of rope strung between them and the edges of the tarpaulin spread out and pegged out with sticks. The bedrolls would be placed underneath, the food they had brought would be left wrapped in the oilskin and placed in a hold with a large stone on top. Hopefully this would prevent any wild scavengers helping themselves.  
They spent the best two days of Johnny’s life there; Jack taught him to fish and he learnt the ways of preparing a freshly caught trout and cooking it either in a pan over the fire or threaded onto a stick and roasted in the smoke. Jack taught him to shoot his revolver.  
“Never in anger, son, only ever in defence, you understand?” he looked seriously at him.  
Johnny nodded and swallowed, he felt so honoured, so trusted to learn these skills, all things Jack’s father had taught him in his youth. Jack showed him how to make damper and they used it to mop up the juice from the fish. The remainder they toasted over the camp fire for breakfast with a couple of eggs Jack fried in butter.  
“Can we do this again, pa?” Johnny sighed as they packed up the bedrolls, “just sometimes.”  
“Of course we can,” Jack grinned and tied the shelter cloth back into a roll, “but I must admit these days I’m a bit of a fair-weather camper …”  
“Sounds good to me, pa,” Johnny smiled.  
Carefree days like these didn’t come along very often, Jack was sure he could make the most of them with Johnny, and it would help him throw off the cares of the cases he dealt with. Phryne, he was sure, would not be interested in sleeping under the stars but he would take her somewhere they could be just themselves, maybe leave the children with Dot and Mr Butler for a weekend. Heck, he was thinking like a husband … and a father! Actually, and he’d rather not put voice to his current feelings, he had rather missed that faux state – being with Phryne in her house and with their children was rather like being the father in a family.

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“Uncle Inspector is coming back today?” Aurelie stood in the parlour watching her mother fiddle nervously with some flowers.  
“He said as much, ma petite,” Phryne smiled, “it is Sunday, and he and Johnny said they would be back today.”  
“Why did they go away, maman?” the little girl sighed.  
“They went to spend some special time together, cherie,” her smiled, “they have a lot of things to catch up on. Unlike you and me they haven’t been together for all of Johnny’s life, Uncle Inspector needs to be with him, just the two of them.” She watched Aurelie try to process this and the frown on her sweet little face. “We have been together all of your life, remember, from Paris to England and now here, but Jack and Johnny – well, they haven’t had that, and it is important. It doesn’t mean we are any less to them, or they to us.”  
“Oh,” Aurelie sighed, “I miss Johnny. Do you miss Uncle Inspector?”  
“I suppose I do, rather,” Phryne felt safe admitting this to her daughter – she shouldn’t have!

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“Miss Aurelie,” Jack laughed as he was tackled in the hallway, “miss me?”  
“Ah ha,” she nodded, “I missed Johnny too, but maman missed you.”  
Jack looked to Phryne standing in the door way to the parlour, they both blushed.  
“Did you have a good time, boys?” Phryne managed to get out, having been rumbled by a five year old.  
“It was great, Miss Phryne,” Johnny enthused, “pa caught fish and showed me how to clean it and we fried it in butter over the camp fire, it was delicious,” he pouted, “I didn’t catch anything, though.”  
“I’m sure you will one day,” Phryne soothed, “I suppose it is just luck?”  
“Sometimes,” Jack smiled.  
“He taught me to shoot, too!” at this Johnny’s eyes were like saucers, still unable to believe he had been allowed to touch his father’s revolver, never mind fire it.  
“Quite a good shot,” Jack mused. He handed a bag to his son and told him to take it into Mr Butler.  
Phryne raised an eyebrow but decided against asking what it was. She assumed it was whatever they had shot and maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea in front of Aurelie, she remembered that where they had been there were rabbits so … dinner, perhaps? The French did wonderful things with la lapin, she expected Mr Butler could do the same, perhaps à la moutarde or just a simple but tasty rabbit stew?

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Jack and Johnny decided that after camping and being without the niceties of indoor plumbing, they would both go and have a bath. Phryne nearly offered to scrub Jack’s back but she would entertain her daughter in case wandering into the kitchen would remove some of the innocence of childhood – in the way of dead rabbits hanging up in the pantry!  
While the boys bathed Phryne took Aurelie out into the garden, she wasn’t much of a gardener but Mr Butler and Jack could trust her to dead head the roses so she did that. Aurelie so wanted to hear what Johnny did while they were camping that it was difficult to keep her mind occupied and she peppered her mother with question after question. In the end Phryne admitted that she hadn’t done any camping, for fun, and didn’t plan to.  
“Not something I have ever wanted to do, cherie,” she hummed, “I prefer my comforts; cosy bed, indoor plumbing … that sort of thing.”  
Aurelie tipped her head and thought about that, “what’s indoor plumbing?” she frowned.  
“The bathroom,” Phryne smiled, “here, hold this rose,” she passed her a solitary bloom from a rose bush that looked rather lonely.  
“So what do they do without a bathroom?”  
Phryne wished she hadn’t said anything. “Er I suppose they wash in the stream …”  
Aurelie shivered, then whispered, “what about, you know, a toilet?”  
“Um, dig a hole and squat, I suppose.”  
“Like in France, when I was little?”  
“Without the porcelain surround; now, shall we go and see if they are clean and civilised, again?”  
“Ok,” Aurelie skipped beside her trying not to think about using a hole in the ground as a toilet – she didn’t think she would ask if she could go camping.

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Jack was in the parlour, clean, shaved and wearing an open-necked shirt and cream trousers; Phryne hadn’t seen him so casually dressed since they too Aurelie to Luna Park. He looked relaxed, which given the past few months trials she was pleased to see.  
“Pretty rose,” he nodded to the bloom she carried.  
“Last one on that bush,” she went to the vase on the piano and tucked it into the arrangement, “it looked a little lost.”  
“Time for more to blossom,” he smiled, “you ok?”  
“Now you’re back,” she admitted, no point in denying it after Aurelie’s cheeky remark.  
“Aurelie was right, then?” he patted the seat next to him.  
“Perhaps, but if you had a good time with Johnny then that’s how it should be.”  
He tipped her chin up with his finger and kissed her lightly on the lips, it made her feel all warm and, well, loved.  
“I missed you too,” he whispered, “though I doubt I’ll ever get you under canvas …”  
“Not in the way you’re thinking, Inspector,” she purred.  
“Saucy,” he teased.  
She grinned, “I could show you later, if you’ve a mind to stay?”  
He tipped his head in thought, though he had already made his mind up – or had it made for him by Johnny, who had just put his pyjamas and robe on, after his bath.  
“I suppose I could, y’know,” he hummed, “though I should go and check if we’ve had any post, Johnny’s results …”  
“Ah, well,” she went a little pink, “I didn’t open them but …”  
“Well, you do have the key,” he smiled, “shall we call him in?”  
“Alright, I’ll wait in the kitchen,” she stood up. He pulled her down.  
“Why?”  
“He’s your son, Jack, if things haven’t gone well then you should be the one to help him through it.” She stood up again.  
“Wait in the hallway, then,” he was touched by her sensitivity, “then …”  
“He’s a bright boy, Jack, it will be fine.” She bent forward and kissed his cheek.

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Jack was leaning against the mantle-piece when Johnny was ushered in by Phryne. The boy looked surprised when she didn’t join them, but closed the door behind him.  
“Pa?”  
“Johnny, son,” Jack reached for him and he stepped close, wrapping his arms round his father, “well, Miss Phryne has been up to her tricks, again,” Jack sighed, “entering without invitation …”  
“She had our keys, Pa,” Johnny laughed, “what has she taken?”  
“The post, Johnny,” his father held up the envelope, “but she didn’t open it.”  
Johnny gulped, “the results,” he reached for the envelope and turned it round in his hands, “Pa ?”  
“Whatever it says, son,” Jack pulled him to sit with him on the chaise, “I am proud of you.”  
Johnny slowly slit the paper and drew out the typewritten sheet. There were a lot of words on it but the ones he registered were “pleased to accept you as a new pupil in our school,” the rest was a blur.  
“Johnny?”  
“Pa,” he swallowed, “I did it. Pa! I did it! I’m in!”  
“You did it?” Jack blinked, “you did it! I knew you could, now …” he took the paper, “…what was the paper?”  
“I had to write an essay on who I am, what I believe and who I love … and why. Pa it was easy.” He flung himself onto his father’s lap, “thank you.”  
“For what, you did the work?”  
“’Cos I said I am John Robinson, son of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the Victorian Constabulary. I was raised in an orphanage and the story is too complicated for now, but I was found by a wonderful, clever person, and I have the most amazing family that was made out of love … I went on a bit, I admit, waffled? Is that the word? …”  
Jack nodded.  
“… waffled on about how family is not necessarily who you are born to but who you need, want and love …”  
“Goodness, Johnny, that sounds incredible,” Jack gasped.  
“I said all I felt about you, Miss Phryne, Jane, Aurelie, Mr B, Dot …” Johnny laughed, “you are all so special, so wonderful. The Mother in the orphanage said that family is what we make it, and it is, isn’t it … that’s what I said.”  
Jack wrapped his arms round his son and praised the name of Miss Phryne Fisher and her poking her nose into everything. He might never leave!  
“Phryne!” Jack called, unable to contain his delight.  
Outside, in the hallway, Phryne counted to ten before she strolled nonchalantly into the parlour,  
“Jack?”  
“He did it!” Jack grinned, pride that he couldn’t disguise, all over his face, “Johnny got into the Grammar.”  
“You clever lad,” she ruffled his hair, “well done. This calls for a celebratory hot chocolate?”  
“Ooh, yes please,” Johnny’s eyes opened wide, “y’can’t do that on a camp fire.”  
Both Phryne and Jack burst out laughing before she went to the kitchen to ask Mr Butler for his very best hot chocolate for a very special and clever young man.

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It took time to persuade Johnny that he should go to bed, he needed to get some sleep before he was taken shopping for his uniform and any books he would need for the next stage in his education, the next stage in his life.  
Jack rubbed his neck as he returned to the parlour, Johnny settled and most of his questions answered. At thirteen he was a little old to be tucked up in bed, but the last questions needed to be answered and the best place was as he went to bed, so he could sleep peacefully.  
“Thank you, Phryne,” he murmured as he dropped onto the chaise next to her.  
“For what, I haven’t done anything – except dog your crime scenes …”  
“You gave me Johnny …”  
“I did no such thing,” she huffed.  
“You did,” he wrapped his arms round her, “you found him; ok by happenstance, but you found him.”  
“Jack …”  
“For a long time, I have appreciated your ‘meddling’ in cases, you have a unique insight on the world. Another copper would have taken Johnny back to the orphanage and left him there but you, you wonderful woman, you ask for his details, you see that he belongs to someone – me – I am his father, someone I never thought I would be – but it took your snooping …”  
“Snooping!?”  
“Ok, not snooping, inquisitiveness, to link him to me. So, you didn’t give birth to him, you aren’t my wife but you gave me the best gift any woman could give a man who always wanted a family.” He pulled her close and took her into a deep, breath-taking kiss.  
“Stay,” she breathed, “stay here. Don’t go, don’t leave tomorrow, or the next day – I know I say you are welcome to stay as long as you want …”  
“Phryne?”  
“… and maybe as long as you want maybe too long for me, but … oh god, Jack, I know I’m not wife material, I’m flighty, irresponsible …”  
“Stop!” he held his hands up, “you are not irresponsible, irresponsible would leave her baby daughter at the front door of a house, any house, irresponsible would have stayed and suffered the abuse, you are the most responsible person I know. Full of life, clever, intuitive, the best mother I have seen in all my days as a police officer – except perhaps my own – but I am biased on that …”  
“I’m a rotten mother,” she sniffed, tears having formed as he extoled her virtues, “I leave her to be cared for by my household while I spend my time investigating cases that are none of my business …”  
“Pah!” he snorted, “the welfare of citizens in Melbourne is everybody’s business, but you go that little bit further and they are all the better for it, so is Aurelie, she will learn responsibility, care and love from all that you do.”  
There was a silence in the room. Phryne couldn’t remember being praised about who she was, what she did, in a very long time. It felt strange, not uncomfortable but it unnerved her slightly. Her father had beaten her, as a child, René had beaten her as an adult, and various others had told her she was worthless, a nuisance … throughout her life.  
Jack reached for her and stroked her cheek, “You are a remarkable woman, Phryne, don’t let anyone tell you different.”  
She closed her hand over his and smiled softly. Jack said so many things to her all of which she believed, because Jack always told the truth – even when it annoyed her, she still understood him.  
She understood that of all the men she had met, had danced with, had bedded – Jack Robinson was the only man who could still the storms in her mind and in her heart, he held both and soothed them. In this moment she realised, she knew she had never been in love before. She had played, been played with, had known men and indulged in the physical act but until this moment she had never loved – but now, now she was irrevocably, indubitably lost in the wonder that was Jack Robinson’s heart.  
“Phryne?” he broke through her thoughts, “Phryne, are you alright?”  
“Hm, yes,” she kissed the hand that still stroked her cheek, “very much so, Jack. Most definitely.” She raised her hand to mirror his, “I love you,” she whispered so quietly he almost missed it, “I love you,” she cleared her throat, “and though it goes against everything I have ever thought I would want – Jack Robinson,” she swallowed, “would you do me the honour of being my husband?”  
Jack blinked, he had never in his wildest dreams, and some had been quite undisciplined, had he thought she would want to marry him, a simple copper.  
“Are you sure?” he stuttered, “marriage? I thought it was not something you wanted, ever.”  
“I didn’t, but a lady can change her mind, can’t she?” she tried to be coquettish, but some-how she sounded embarrassed, that she would change her mind on such a momentous decision.  
“As long as you don’t change your mind on the steps of the courthouse, Miss Fisher, it would give me the utmost delight to be Mr Fisher.”  
She giggled, “Maybe Mr Fisher Robinson,” she leant her forehead against his chest, “but I shall be most content to be Mrs Robinson.”

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They lay in a tangle of limbs, pink and breathless from loving. Phryne’s eyes were closed and Jack wondered if she had fallen asleep. He took his time gazing at the vision before him marred only by the scar over her hip from De Vere’s bullet.  
“I can hear you thinking, Inspector,” she murmured.  
“You were, too,” he leaned over and kissed the scar.  
“Yours first,” she hummed.  
“No, I insist, ladies first.”  
She playfully batted his shoulder, “Are you sure?”  
“Of course, what’s on your mind?”  
“Oh, well, I was just wondering if you would be expecting me to give you another child, because …” how to put this.  
“Not really, only if you want to. We have a child each and Jane …”  
“It is important to get this sorted in our minds, Jack.” She had been worried he would expect her to provide him with more children, he was a family man, after all.  
“If one came along, by accident, because you take precautions and I can too, then I would love it as much as I love the three we have.” He moved up her body and kissed her lightly on the lips.  
“Admittedly I don’t actually want to go through it again, and three is a nice number, isn’t it?”  
“Perfect,” he smiled, “were you really worried?”  
“Well, you always wanted a family, you told me that,” she reached up and pulled him back into a deep kiss.  
When her lips released his he smiled, “I have one, now,” he moved over her and she could feel him hot and hard against her thigh.  
She ran her toes up his strong calf and shifted enough to let him position himself at her entrance. He teased her, entering hardly at all then pulling back, it drove her wild with the desire to have him deep inside her and she raised her hips to his.  
“Jack,” she bit her lip, too near the edge to be coherent.  
“Patience, Phryne,” he smiled and bent to take a breast in his mouth and suckle and the pert nipple, she tasted sweet and salty at the same time. He moved further into her, feeling her pulsing round him, so close to climax, he withdrew completely.  
“Please …” she begged, she’d never had to beg before but then he’d never teased her like this before.  
He tipped his head and smirked then pushed into her so hard she gasped with the shock. She rose to meet him at each thrust and as he hit her sweet spot she climaxed, called his name, time after time until he finally let go and spilled inside her and she held him there, panting, her pupils blown.  
Coming back from the outer reaches of the universe, Jack rolled to her side and pulled her against him. This time when her eyes closed, she had fallen asleep. He pulled the covers over them and joined her in peaceful slumber.

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Henry, Baron Fisher of Richmond upon Thames, smiled as he read the latest letter from his daughter. She was to be married, to a copper, a Detective Inspector, the one she had told him about in previous letters. She told him how Aurelie was doing, now she was at school, about Johnny and Jane, how they were doing, Mary’s marriage to Bruce Adamson … He enjoyed getting these updates from Phryne and he would tell Margaret about everything, though she still huffed and puffed about her not following the path she had set out for her. She’d even frowned when he told her Janey had been found and that her sister, Prudence had helped her see to her funeral. He had sent flowers from both of them. He would tell his wife that Phryne was to marry at last and that he had every intention of attending the wedding – an invitation was enclosed. Not church, he noticed, but it was Phryne’s wedding and her intended was divorced. Whatever their differences over the years, since she had stayed with them bringing her delightful daughter with her, he had seen her for what she was, and he was so very proud that she had overcome the injuries to her mind and her person that he had inflicted on her, and that bastard René. He regretted all he had done and praised the lord that he had the chance to make amends.  
“Margaret!” he called through to his wife, somewhere in the garden he hoped, “Margaret we have another letter from Phryne!”  
“What does she want now?” the Baroness looked up from planting some flower or other, Henry never knew quite what she did in the garden, and they did have a gardener to see to that sort of thing.  
“She’s getting married,” he waved the paper at her, “in eight weeks, gives us time to get there, there’s an invitation.”  
“Who too?” she couldn’t deny she was pleased that at last her daughter had seen sense.  
“Jack Robinson, y’know, the Detective Inspector she’s always on about. Seems they have decided to marry and join their families.” He grinned, “that means we’ll have a grandson as well as a granddaughter.”  
“No, we won’t,” she straightened and huffed, “his son is no grandson of mine, and why is she marrying a copper? Hasn’t Prudence found her someone of her standing? At least a respectable business man, not a ruddy copper.” She stormed off, disappointed in her daughter again. There were well to do and high-born men in Melbourne that Phryne could have chosen, but no, she has to go and get herself bound to a copper.  
He decided against talking her round and just told her he would book the tickets to Australia; she ignored him and headed into the house.  
Henry was under no illusion that his wife didn’t want to go to her daughter’s wedding, but he was going to get her to Melbourne if he had to bind and gag her. This silly feud had gone on long enough – Phryne had done things that had not been wise, but she had also done things that were beyond anything he could have imagined and, to top it all, she had found Janey, seen to her having a proper resting place and become something of a cause celebre in their home city. As long as she was happy with Jack then he was happy too, and Margaret would just have to put up with it.

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Jack smiled at the cards he and Phryne received, in response to the invitations to their wedding. It wasn’t as big a wedding as he had feared, but it would be a wedding of note in Melbourne. It was to be at the town hall, Aurelie was to be a flower girl and Dot would be Phryne’s supporter. Johnny was to be Jack’s best man.   
“So, who has accepted?” he poured her a drink and sat beside her.  
“Father, and mother, though I think it is more father’s doing,” she smiled and showed the letter, “Charlie and Evadne, part of their honeymoon trip …”  
He nodded, he knew about them, “My mother, sister and her family have also cleared their diaries …”  
“Clemmie …”  
“You invited Clemmie?” he swallowed his drink, “my ex-sister in law?”  
“I did tell you I was going to, it could be the only way I get to meet her,” Phryne smiled and kissed his cheek, “you don’t seem to get round to inviting her over.”  
“It’s your house,” he huffed.  
“It’s our house, Jack darling, you can invite your family over, in fact I wish you would, I still haven’t met my future mother in law!”  
He stuttered, trying to find an excuse, a reason for not having asked his mother to come and meet Phryne. He was sure she would like her, and Phryne had said he could invite anyone over, just let Mr Butler know numbers for dinner. He was a bit surprised she hadn’t invited them over herself, really.  
“Jack … Jack,” she put her hand on his cheek, “invite them over for dinner …”  
He ran his hand over his head, “I don’t want to overstep …” he mumbled.  
“Oh, you dear man,” she smiled, “you could never overstep. Now, how about one night this week, you ring and find out when she is free, I … we’ll have Cec and Bert collect her …”  
“Alright,” he sighed, “I’ll do that, then.”  
“Good …”  
“Sorry, Phryne, it’s just that Rosie always did all that kind of thing, I would just come home to find the place full of visitors when all I wanted to do was to go to bed and sleep off the day’s doings.” He sighed and put his drink down, drawing her onto his lap, “then we’d row about me being rude or unwelcoming, but if she’d rung and warned me, I might have been a bit better company.”  
“I’ll try and remember that,” she leant against his chest, “but if we do have guests and you do arrive home grumpy feel free to go and wallow in a bath and I’ll make your excuses. Now, Guy and Isabella are also coming, I think they just want to see it to believe it,” she shrugged.  
“I bet your Aunt was the first one to accept,” he gave a wry grin, Mrs Stanley seemed a lot more accepting of him these days, even called him ‘Jack’, instead of ‘Inspector’.  
“I don’t think the ink was dry,” she laughed, “but that’s it, it’s really just family.”  
“Isn’t that how it should be?”   
“Yes, I know - well we both know - lots of people but this is not something for acquaintances, though if my mother were organising my wedding, she would invite half the county over, regardless of how well we know them.”  
“Then they’d snigger behind their hands at you marrying beneath you …”  
She pushed up and looked at him, frowning quite darkly, “Now you get that thought out of your head this instant, Jack Robinson,” she growled, “you are not beneath me, in fact I think it is the other way round – and who the hell are other people to say who is beneath another? I love you, you are the only man I have ever wanted to tie myself to because you don’t treat me like some fragile china cup that is likely to break, because you seem to think I have a brain …”  
“You do, and I’m very glad for it, too. So, you and me against the world, eh?”  
“Absolutely.” She nodded and kissed him firmly, “now, go and invite your mother and sister over for dinner, then go and tell Mr Butler what evening it will be, I’ll finish up here and go and see where the children are.”  
He laughed, just a normal day in the Fisher-Robinson household.

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Jack was uncharacteristically nervous, pacing the parlour, fiddling with his tie.  
“Oh, stop it,” Phryne pulled him close by the lapels, “really Jack, what are you worried about? Are you worried they won’t like me?”  
“God, no,” he put his hands on her hips, “they’ll love you.”  
“So, what is it?”  
“I’m introducing my mother …”  
“… who has exacting standards …”  
“… to someone she has only heard or read about …”  
“I promise to be on my best behaviour,” Phryne gave the scouting salute. She was well aware that Jack’s mother would have formed an opinion on her from the tittle tattle in the papers and magazines, but that couldn’t be helped. If people wanted to believe everything they read, then that was their problem, not hers.  
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Mrs Robinson proved to be a small, bird-like woman with a twinkle in her eye when she greeted Jack, and, after being introduced to Phryne, a bright smile and a warm hug.  
Jack found he was holding his breath when his sister dug him in the ribs and laughed softly at him.  
“It’s alright, you know,” she whispered, “mum has been dying to meet her for ages.”   
He looked relieved.  
They had decided that Johnny should be introduced to his grandmother though he would not join them for dinner, he, Aurelie and Jane would have eaten earlier and then be entertained in the playroom by Cec and Bert, who had volunteered for the role as babysitters. Jane didn’t think she needed a babysitter, not at fourteen, but she was happy to, perhaps, put Aurelie to bed when she got tired.  
The boy stood up as they entered the parlour. He had tried reading but had been thinking too much about this moment. After all, she may not like him, his mother being Rosie Sanderson who traded in girls.  
Mrs Robinson looked him up and down, then walked round him, he felt like a museum exhibit.  
“So,” she hummed, “you’re me gran’son, eh?”  
Johnny swallowed, “Yes’m,” he nodded, “pleased to meet you,” he held out his hand.  
She took it and gave him a warm smile, “Boy, this is a day I never thought I’d see, I am very pleased to meet you. You remind me of your father, when he was young.”  
“Thank you, grandmother …”  
“Gran’ll do, lad, it’s what the others call me.”  
He grinned, “thanks, Gran.”  
Jack introduced Johnny to his aunt, “Eleanor,” he smiled.  
“I only get called that when I’m in trouble,” she laughed, “Aunt Ellie, to you Johnny, good to know you.”  
“Well,” Mrs Robinson perched on a chair, “now, Miss Fisher, where is this daughter of yours, you keep her very much out of the limelight?”  
“Oh, well …” Phryne felt a little under the microscope, but there was never going to be a good time to introduce her, “I’ll fetch her.”

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Aurelie was listening to Jane read ‘Peter Pan’, her favourite story, when Phryne looked into the playroom. She was ready for bed in her nightdress and robe, hair brushed and, when she picked her up, smelling of the baby soap she still used.  
“Mrs Robinson wants to meet you,” she smiled, “you come too, Jane, I want her to meet you as well.”  
“Who’s Mrs Robinson,” Aurelie yawned.  
“Uncle Inspector’s maman,” she shifted her onto her hip, “you be polite, now.”  
Aurelie nuzzled into her mother’s neck, school made her tired.

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“Mrs Robinson, may I present my daughter, Aurelie Fisher,” Phryne took the child up to her and set her down on her feet. “she is ready for bed after an exciting day at school.”  
“Well, Miss Aurelie,” Mrs Robinson mused, “so your mama is to marry my son …”  
Aurelie looked perplexed.  
“Uncle Inspector, ma petite.”  
Aurelie nodded and pushed her thumb into her mouth.  
“And how do you feel about that, eh?”  
“I think it’s lovely,” Aurelie smiled shyly, “then I will have a proper papa.”  
“You think he will be a good papa?”  
“Oh yes,” she nodded, “he reads lovely stories and takes us to Luna Park, and he looks after maman.”  
“You are quite the little dear,” Mrs Robinson lay her hand on her cheek, “you have sweet dreams child, your maman has raised you well.”  
“Goodnight, Uncle Inspector’s maman.”  
“Goodnight, child.”  
Phryne looked up at Jack who had moved to the drinks tray and proceeded to pour sherry for his mother and sister, he knew they didn’t drink cocktails, too fussy, his mother usually huffed when offered. Mr Butler brought in a cocktail for himself and his fiancée and they raised their glasses in a toast – “Happy families”. Jack smiled at Phryne, knowing she and Aurelie had won his mother over.  
“I’m sorry your husband couldn’t join us, Ellie,” Phryne sipped the concoction Mr Butler had magically mixed.  
“So’s he, Miss Fisher …”  
“Phryne, please …” Phryne stopped her, “we are to be sisters in law.”  
Ellie smiled, “… unfortunately he got held up in court, in Mildura, the case is going on longer than expected.”  
“Of course, he’s a lawyer,” Phryne remembered, “nothing’s easy, in our line, is it?”  
“Indeed not,” Ellie laughed, “Rosie never liked him.”  
Phryne wasn’t sure why Ellie should have mentioned this but she did, maybe Jack would understand – later she would ask him  
“Dinner is served, Miss,” Mr Butler opened the door.  
“Thank you, Mr B,” she held out her hand to Jack, “shall we?”

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The dinner was lively, Mrs Robinson insisted Phryne call her by her given name, Emily. Jack was finally at ease – Rosie had never been invited to do so. They talked of past years, of Jack’s childhood, family, friends.  
They were just about to adjourn to the parlour for coffee when there was a knock at the door. Mr Butler went to see who it was before slipping back into the dining room and whispering in Miss Fisher’s ear.  
“Really?” she pushed her chair out, “would you excuse me, for a moment.”

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“Mother,” Phryne drew the Baroness into the parlour, “you have arrived.”  
Margaret looked around the room, noticed the cool colours and modern but comfortable furnishings.  
“So, you are getting married?” she huffed.  
“It is what you always wanted, mother,” Phryne shrugged, “and now I have found the man I want to marry.”  
“A copper,” the Baroness hissed, “how could you? Far beneath you,” she growled.  
“Better than a rapist who thinks shooting himself in the thigh will make him a war hero,” Phryne reminded her of the night Gordon Heronlea had tried to have his way with her in the grounds of the family home, and the truth that had unfolded in the aftermath.  
“Over my dead body,” Margaret stood up and grabbed her daughter by the arm and pinched her, “not a copper, Phryne, you …”  
“I love him, he loves me, and we have children who love us both – we are a family already, mother, whether you like it or not.”  
“You know damn well I don’t!”  
“Well, tough, mother! This is how it’s going to be, I am going to marry Jack, and that’s that!” She moved to the door, “Mr Butler, would you call the Red Raggers and have them transport my mother to the Windsor – she’s leaving.”  
Mr Butler had already put in the call, the taxi was waiting outside. After seeing the Baroness out, he prepared a tray of coffee and liqueurs.  
Nobody had heard the conversation, though from the look on her face Jack could see it had not gone well, and he had heard the slam of the door when the visitor had left.

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Emily Robinson saw right through the cheery façade Phryne attempted to hide behind. Whoever the visitor was had upset her soon-to-be daughter in law, and she didn’t like it, because that would upset Jack and it was the first time she had seen her son so happy in many a year. Rosie Sanderson didn’t make Jack happy, but Phryne Fisher did – and, as a mother, she would fight tooth and nail for her child’s happiness.  
“Phryne,” she touched her elbow, “is there anything I can do? You seem, well, not quite yourself.”  
Phryne sighed, “I wish there was, Emily, but … thank you, no. I shall manage this, and Jack will not suffer – I love him too much to have him tangled up in a family feud.”  
Emily frowned.  
“Never fear,” Phryne squeezed her hand, “this feud will end, I shall see to that.”  
Emily thought Miss Fisher was so determined that nothing would stop her marrying Jack, and for that she was grateful.


	15. About jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out more about Jack, Margaret is unbendable and Henry is sweet.

Phryne had no more visits from her mother, but her father called one afternoon, mainly to apologise for Margaret’s thoughtless and uninvited remarks about her husband to be.  
“Look, Phryne, dear girl,” he sighed, “I hoped she would adjust on the journey over, but she seems to have got even more knotted up about it. I want you to be happy, because god knows I did nothing to cheer you as a child, and this chap seems to make you happy. So much comes through in your letters, joy, laughter and of course the worry of raising a child on your own.”  
“Father,” Phryne rose from her seat and went to stand where Jack usually did, it seemed to strengthen her, “I don’t want her to attend. I know …” she held her hands up before he could say anything, “I should have my mother at my wedding, but I am afraid she will cause a scene, upset the children, and I won’t have that, not on my wedding day. I can’t do right for doing wrong, so I would rather you kept her away.”  
“Perhaps one, or both of us, should talk to your aunt,” Henry mused, “she may be able to get her to see reason.”  
“You can try, but I doubt it,” she sighed, “Aunt P has been wonderful to Johnny and Aurelie, and taken Jane to her heart as well – and Arthur is to attend the wedding – and you know how mother feels about him being on view. It was alright when we were children …”  
“I’ll give it a go,” he shrugged, “at least we can say we tried. If Prudence can’t get her to see sense then nobody can. Frankly, your mother is the one who will miss out.”  
Phryne agreed to let him see if Mrs Stanley could change her mother’s mind, but she feared that she would just throw Janey back in her face.

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At first, Margaret was delighted to take tea with her sister but once the subject of the wedding and Jack was brought up, she turned.  
“… really, Prudence, I don’t know what she is thinking, a working man,” she huffed.  
“Phryne works,” Prudence reminded her, “as a detective.”  
“She dabbles, it is a hobby – nothing more.”  
“It is a profession,” Prudence argued, “and Jack values her contribution to his detection, so does the Commissioner.”  
“Pah!”  
“Margaret, please, Phryne needs your support, she should have your support, as her mother. After all, your marriage to Henry wasn’t what our parents planned.”  
“No, I shall never approve of such a match, and really I don’t understand why you do.”  
“Jack is intelligent, polite, very well read, smartly turned out and not without breeding, unlike the previous Deputy Commissioner – George Sanderson.” Prudence gave a shudder.  
“Why, what did he do?”  
“He, and his godson, and latterly his daughter, were selling young girls to men in the Middle East, white slavery – I ask you! Disgraceful behaviour! Phryne was key to them uncovering the whole operation, and nearly got herself killed in the ensuing raid on the ship.”  
“Serves her right for meddling,” Margaret sniffed.  
“Right, that does it!” Prudence stood up, a full head shorter than her sister, “get out! You are not welcome here, or at Phryne’s wedding! I am so disappointed in you, Margaret, Phryne is a credit to her own determination and intelligence.”  
Prudence stood by the open door of her parlour and waited for her sister to leave. Margaret may think her daughter was a disappointment but to her, Phryne was the best and brightest of them all. Given her upbringing she was quite amazed at how well she had turned out.  
Margaret marched out with her nose in the air and closed the front door with rather too much force for Prudence’s sensibilities. Prudence watched her leave, sadness in her heart, and went to phone her niece.

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Phryne wasn’t surprised but she was dreadfully saddened, more than she thought she would be. Prudence suggested that perhaps one of the Red Raggers could be at the back of the hall, if she decided to come and try to disrupt the proceedings.  
“If she tries to come to the reception, darling,” she sighed, “I shall have a member of my staff remove her, politely.”  
“Perhaps,” Phryne hummed, “but then, in front of all those people if I introduce her to Jack, she is unlikely to make a scene, d’ye think?”  
“She’ll be the most embarrassed if she does," Prudence huffed. “I’m sorry, dear girl, but she was always stubborn.”  
“I’ll ring father and tell him she isn’t welcome … not something I thought I would ever have to do.”

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Henry wasn’t surprised to hear the news from his daughter. Margaret had been furious when she returned from her sister’s. She thought both Prudence and Phryne were being unreasonable in the extreme.  
“I mean, a working man, not in church …”  
“Divorced, too,” Henry muttered under his breath, which, fortunately Margaret didn’t hear.  
“… really, it’s too much. Janey would have wanted a lovely wedding, surrounded by all the right people …”  
“Well, Phryne isn’t Janey,” he huffed, he hated the way she would compare the girls, they were both very different, even from a young age. “I don’t understand why you insist on fighting with our only daughter, you risk losing her for good, you know.”  
Margaret just glared at him and flounced into the bedroom to lie down; she had a headache.

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Phryne stretched and yawned. She was alone in her bed, Jack insisted – just one night – he would sleep in the guest bedroom and they would meet as they left for the courthouse. She thought he was being silly, but he said he was saving his love making for their wedding night, but … he left her just satisfied enough before slipping out of the boudoir to the one guest room she had left.  
Dot brought her in a breakfast tray, light pastries, strong coffee and the newspaper. She flung open the curtains to reveal a bright, but chill, early winter morning, clear blue sky with just a few fluffy white clouds.  
“You’ll need the wrap, Miss,” Dot smiled, thinking of the alternative accessories they had planned for the outfit she was to wear – all dependent on the temperature – from a light wool to her white fur.   
“Just the wrap?” Phryne gave a cheeky grin, Dot blushed, but she was glad Miss Phryne didn’t seem nervous.

Aurelie bounced in, she had already woken Uncle Inspector and now felt her mother should be up and ready to talk, or play.  
“Good morning, Miss,” Phryne welcomed her with a hug, “how are you this morning?”  
“Bien,” Aurelie snuggled down under the covers. Phryne offered her a piece of croissant with apricot jam.  
“Maman …”  
“Don’t speak with your mouth full, cherie …”  
Aurelie swallowed, “sorry. Maman, when you and Uncle Inspector are married Johnny says he will be my papa, it is true, isn’t it?”  
As far as Phryne was aware it didn’t make Jack Aurelie’s father, she thought he would have to formally adopt her for that, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t give him that title, it was something the little girl had suggested to Jack’s mother when she met her for the first time. She didn’t want to disappoint her so suggested she go and ask him if he wanted to be her papa.  
“Do you want him to be your papa?” she hummed.  
“Oh yes,” the child nodded enthusiastically, “it would be lovely to have a proper papa and maman.”  
Phryne wondered if this was something that had come of her going to school and meeting children with more conventional families, or had she always wanted that. She was six, now, and noticing more about other people and how they lived – and loved.  
“And am I not a ‘proper maman’?” Phryne smiled.  
“Silly maman, of course you are, and you are the bestest maman in the world,” Aurelie put her arms round her waist and looked up at her adoringly, eyelashes fluttering.  
“And you are the bestest daughter in the world,” Phryne kissed her head, though she did wonder how she was the ‘bestest maman’.  
They spent a little while snuggled together, eating breakfast pastries and laughing at silly little things, that if anyone had asked Phryne what they were she would struggle to remember, though she did remember pushing the tray off the bed and tickling Aurelie until tears of laughter ran down her cheeks.

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Jack fiddled with his tie, soft sky blue, Phryne had left it for him so it was obviously something to do with the wedding, possibly the colour of her dress. Johnny also had a tie in the same colour and a suit that matched his father’s in charcoal grey – he felt incredibly proud.  
“Is she late, pa?” he asked, he felt like they had been standing in the registry for hours.  
“Phryne is never late, well not for a case, but maybe she will bow to tradition and be say … ah, here she is … two minutes late,” he looked at his watch and smiled.  
“What’s tradition, pa?”  
“Things that happen because they always have, brides are supposed to be around five minutes late, keeps the groom on his toes,” he winked then turned to the officiant and straightened his shoulders.  
Jack had caught a glimpse of his bride on the arm of her father, but determined that if he stood and looked too long, he would just whisk her away to the nearest hidden corner and ravish her senseless – she had that effect on him. For all that, the image was burned in his brain. She wore a gown of sky-blue silk-satin. It skimmed her figure giving her the ethereal appearance of a naiad as it floated around her ankles. It was cut with panels on the bias, lightly gathered under each breast and cut straight across from shoulder to shoulder. It had a layered handkerchief hem and tiny sparkles caught the light as she walked to meet him. Over the dress she wore a velvet wrap lined with the same coloured silk.  
Aurelie walked behind her, herdress was a darker blue velvet, a softly pleated skirt from a long-sleeved panelled bodice. She carried a small, winter posy that Mr Butler had carefully crafted for her.  
The ceremony went off without a hitch, it would appear that Phryne’s mother had decided against disrupting the proceedings, Phryne and Jack made their vows, though Phryne didn’t agree to obey her husband – Jack thought he might agree to obey her, but she had dissuaded him – but she would love and honour him, then Jack was told he could kiss his bride.  
Henry looked on with pride and also with sadness, sadness that his wife would not bend at all and understand that times were changing and Phryne had made an excellent choice in her life partner.

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Prudence’s staff, together with Mr Butler, had prepared a sumptuous reception meal, more of a banquet really, though it was light on the stomach. The champagne flowed and the cake was a masterpiece that the newlyweds cut with a knife expressly sharpened and polished for the event. It was decorated with white and gold flowers that seemed to drape around the tiers and end in a neat pile of petals and leaves on the board on which it sat.  
The speeches were mercifully short and a little amusing, but there was nothing to embarrass either Jack or Phryne.  
The ballroom was opened for dancing, should anyone wish to take to the floor, the children were allowed to run and skip around, adults talked and drank and Jack and Phryne swayed to the music.  
“I suppose we should lead the way,” Jack murmured in her ear, “maybe have the first dance?”  
“Hm,” she nestled into his neck, “I wish they would all …”  
“It’s our wedding, sweetheart,” he cut her off, “sadly our wishes are not first on the list.”  
She slumped against him as he guided her round the room.  
“However …” he pulled her out of the French windows and to a waiting taxi.  
“Jack?”  
“Onward, Cecil!” he laughed.

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It was a short flight to where Jack had planned they spend their wedding night, and the following week. There would be no interruptions, no small children bouncing on the bed – that would come when they returned home – and no calls to a murder or other crime, no they were to be on their own. He hadn’t known how or where they should spend their honeymoon but it was a remark his mother made that had him make his decision.  
“So, Jack,” she gazed at the building. Old colonial style but inside it was warm, welcoming, “it’s quite beautiful.”  
“I always thought so,” he lifted her easily into the hallway, “my grandfather built it. We only use it for high days and holidays, so …”  
“We look after ourselves?”  
He tipped his head and smiled a little smile.   
“Ah hah,” he wagged a finger, “the staff come in in the morning, and leave at night – when anyone is in residence – otherwise they just keep the place ticking over.”  
There was a lot that she needed to find out about her husband. She knew he had a little tucked away, but this house – well she would have to see what it was all about.

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They spent their nights in loving, thoroughly ravishing each other before sleeping until the sun was high in the sky, and their days walking around the gardens or riding out.   
Phryne had been surprised when she opened the suitcase Dot had packed for her, to find a pair of riding breeches among the dresses, skirts, blouses and pairs of trousers.  
“You can ride, can’t you?” he raised an eyebrow as she held them up with a quizzical look on her face.  
“I haven’t for some time, but I suppose it will come back to me, but …”  
“It’s been a while for me, as well,” he tucked his shirt into his own breeches, “there should be a couple of slow horses in the stables.”  
“Jack?”  
“Hm?” he was trying to keep up some mystery about his family, slowly she would learn that there was more to him that a steady, reliable copper.  
“So far I have seen the front of this beautiful house and you have said we shall be catered for, but … what did your grandfather do that he could build such a place?”  
“This house is the culmination of years of hard work as a sheep farmer,” he picked up his riding boots, planning on walking down to breakfast in his stocking feet – his grandmother never allowed riding boots in the bedrooms – “he built the place up from a tent, essentially, when he emigrated from Scotland. He bought a few sheep, bred from them, bought a few more, built a small house, married a local lass and the rest, as they say, is history.”  
“So where do you fit in all this, aside from being his grandson?” she followed his lead with the boots and they headed down to see what the cook-housekeeper had set out for breakfast.  
“My father was the third, and youngest, son. He was wild, so grandmother always used to say, strong-willed and determined to go his own way. Grandfather almost disinherited him, but relented when he married my mother and rose up in the constabulary to commanding his own district. My uncles continued to run the farm but now it is just owned by the family. The farm-hands are trusted to deal with the flock and land and, as I said, the house is maintained so any of us, or all of us, can use it as we want. We used to have huge family Christmases here, but now we are rather spread out and as you know, I don’t always get Christmas off.”  
In the dining room, as they ate bacon and eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes and drank tea and coffee, which was as she liked it, someone must has said something about her preference for a rich dark brew, she mused over what he had told her so far. Jack himself was not a wealthy man, she supposed he was comfortably off and careful – Scottish breeding – but most of all she wondered if Rosie had ever been privileged to see this side of him.  
Jack knew she was full of questions that she needed answers to and he was fully prepared to tell her all about his family, but, all in good time. He would take her out on horseback, with a picnic, show her how much land the family owned and maybe tell her a little more.

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“It’s quite breath-taking,” Phryne scanned the vast scrubland that was peppered with sheep and horsemen.  
“He picked a good spot,” Jack agreed, “it goes as far as those hills,” he pointed, “and over to the river – come on, there’s a lovely spot for a picnic.” He spurred his horse onward, at a steady trot.  
Winter wasn’t the season she would normally pick as a time for a picnic, but she knew there was a flask of soup and fresh crusty rolls in the pack, and maybe they could light a fire.

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Jack leant against the trunk of a tree, satisfied with the food that had been sent, and the peace he felt.   
“I know you are wondering,” he pulled her to lie against him, “but, no, Rosie never came here. She didn’t like the idea of fresh air and horses – true city girl.”  
“I am city born,” she huffed.  
“I know, but you are different. You see the wider world, have seen it,” he frowned, how to explain it? “She equated what I was trying to tell her with me telling her I was a farm boy … she didn’t like the idea.”  
“She didn’t listen,” Phryne snuggled close, “yet, surely she should know the man she married … and his family.”  
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” he shrugged. “So, I am the descendent of a sheep farmer, a man who made good. My father was a copper and I followed in his footsteps.”  
“Thank god for immigrants,” she smiled.  
“Yeah,” he smiled and mounted his horse, “back to the house?”  
Her answer was to mount and spur her horse on, “race you!” she called, though the two horses were not quite up to a race.  
He laughed and urged his mount onwards, at least she knew he hadn’t married her for her money.

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There was still more she wanted to learn about his family, his uncles – did they have families?  
They were in the parlour, a small cosy room, old fashioned but warmed by the fire it was intimate. He pulled a leather-bound book from one of the shelves and took her through part of his life, his holidays there, pictures of his wider family and the uncles she was curious about.  
“Uncle Hamish,” he pointed at a burly, bearded man leaning on a shotgun – the Robinson lean she smiled – “he did most to run the place. Never married, rough, but kindly to us children; probably the most like grandfather. He died well into his nineties and here,” he pointed to another man. Slimmer than Hamish, still sporting the beard and exhibiting the ‘lean’, “this is Uncle Stuart. Bit of a lady’s man, by all accounts, rumoured to have one or two children the wrong side of the bedsheets, as they say, but again never married. Shot by a disgruntled father when he wouldn’t marry a lass he had got in the family way.” Jack shrugged.  
“So that’s why the family own the place?”  
“When dad died, the last of grandfather’s sons, he left the farm to us all, knowing I would never make a farmer but wanting it to stay in the family in case one day me or my sister would have a son that would like to take it on. All he asked was that we kept it in the family somehow. Grandfather, he said, worked hard to make a life for himself, and for us, that it would be wrong to sell it off to someone who may not have the same work ethic.”  
“I think I understand, and it is a lovely house. I suspect the gardens were your grandmother’s area …”  
“Yes, I used to spend hours with her, planting and pruning, with my sister running around choosing blooms for the house.” He showed her a picture of two young children about the age of Johnny and Aurelie in the garden with a motherly looking woman.  
“Johnny looks like you at that age,” she smiled.  
“I should like to bring them up here, one day, Johnny, Aurelie and Jane. Maybe in the summer.”  
“Does your sister come, often?”  
“More often than I,” he sighed, “her boy, Robert, is interested. Likes riding out with the hands, and watching them look after the sheep.”  
“Perhaps he’s the one to take it on, one day.”  
“Perhaps.”  
“Would you like Johnny to?”  
“I want Johnny to do what he wants to do, anything – as long as it isn’t bank robbery,” he laughed, “and for now,” he put the book to one side, “this rug is comfortable and the fire …”  
She giggled … she liked a man with a plan.

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All too soon their week came to an end. She had found out a lot about her husband and loved him even more for sharing part of his life that his first wife had no interest in. They packed and left a thank you letter for the staff, who they never saw – it was like being looked after by benevolent spirits – and headed out to the small airfield in a horse drawn buggy; his grandmother’s preferred mode of transport, apparently.  
“I wonder how the children have been?” she murmured, head against his shoulder.  
“I imagine they have been fine, wrapped Dot and Mr Butler round their fingers – I left the phone number in case of any problems.” He kissed the top of her head.

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The week had passed quickly at Wardlow. Aurelie had pouted that her mother hadn’t said good bye before she left on her honeymoon, but as Dot had reminded her, it was a secret and they had to sneak away. She had relented when Mr Butler had perfected his currant bun recipe for her return from school each day and her grandpapa arrived most evenings to read to her before she went to bed. Grandmama was notable by her absence.  
Henry wanted to get to know the boy he already regarded as his grandson and also to see how Jane fitted into the family. Johnny spent time setting up his new bedroom at Wardlow, asking the Red Raggers to help him transport his books and the things that sat on the shelves in his room in the bungalow. It was while he was setting the books in the order he liked them that Henry knocked on his door.  
"Hello, sir," Johnny stood up, "is everything alright? I thought you were reading to Aurelie."  
"She's fast asleep," Henry smiled, "I wondered if you needed any help."  
"That's kind of you, sir," Johnny swallowed, "I was just putting my books on the shelves."  
"A reader, eh?" Henry picked up a copy of Treasure Island, "good one," he waved it in the air.  
"It was pa's choice," the boy smiled, "then he took me into a book shop to buy more, and got me into the library. He got me my own copy of Shakespeare, too - he quotes it a lot." Johnny slotted the heavy volume into its space.  
"Well read man, your pa," Henry smiled.  
"He is, sir," Johnny agreed.  
"You can drop the 'sir', Johnny," Henry sat on the bed, "call me 'grandfather', if you'd like to, that is."  
"Oh, well, sir, that's kind of you, and I haven't got a grandfather, not one that I ... er ..."  
"Heard about him, lad," the Baron sighed, "Phryne told me about it, in case it came up in conversation, if her mother got to know about it. They say you can't choose your family, but it's the blood you can't choose, family - well, I think you and my daughter have done that, haven't you?"  
"Family isn't necessarily blood is it? I mean," Johnny tipped his head and thought, "it's who you love, isn't it? And the ones we have around us, Dot, Aurelie, Mr Butler, the Raggers ..."  
"Quite right, Johnny, lad," Henry agreed. He raised his eyebrows, "so ...?"  
"Good to meet you, grandfather," Johnny laughed and held out his hand. "Do I call your wife 'grandmother'?"  
"Perhaps not immediately, son," Henry laughed, "hopefully in time she will come to see you as her grandson. My wife is strong willed, like Phryne, but she leans a lot on society, propriety - y'know -that sort of gossip stuff."  
"So does Aunt Prudence," Johnny reminded him, "but she has been so kind from our first meeting."  
"That's Prudence for you, makes a decision and sticks to it, that and it's not your fault, what they did. She'll bend when she has to, but she has her standards. My guessing is your father grew on her, by helping to find my youngest daughter's burial place, and helping Phryne come to terms with losing Janey." Henry wasn't sure if Johnny knew the story but if not ...  
"I heard something of that, from Dot. I think she told me so I wouldn't put my foot in it."  
"Bad business," Henry frowned.  
Johnny pushed the last of his books into place, "well, that's it for now," he sighed, "grandfather, do you play draughts?"  
"I do, why?" Henry grinned when Johnny used the title.  
"Well, pa and Miss Phryne play a lot, and he's taught me, Jane doesn't care for it so I wondered ..." he looked hopeful.  
"Right you are, lad," Henry clapped him on the shoulder, "first one to three wins ... "  
"You're on!"

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They drew up at the front of the house, it seemed so normal, so their’s. They had agreed that he and Johnny would move into the house and think about what they should do with his bungalow. They were in no doubt that Johnny would have made a room his, at Wardlow, and why not? Why wait?  
It was a Saturday, so Aurelie would be at home and not at school, it was around lunchtime so everyone would be out of bed, engaged in various activities, in fact the perfect time to return home.  
Cec took their suitcases out of the taxi and set them down.  
“Thank you, Cec,” Phryne smiled, “I expect you will be around soon enough?”  
“Likely so, Miss Fisher … er, Mrs Robinson,” Phryne just shrugged and took hold of a suitcase.  
“Here,” Jack picked up the other one and took hers off her, “go on, you’ll need both hands for Aurelie.”  
“Maman!”  
The front door opened and a small whirlwind flew down the path into Phryne’s arms. As she collided with her mother Jack dropped the cases and stepped behind his wife to catch her as she staggered back under the onslaught of the six year old.  
“Whoa there!” Jack held Phryne steady.  
“Bonjour, ma petite,” Phryne laughed, “I hope you’ve been a good girl.”  
Aurelie tipped her head and grinned, “bien sûr.”  
Johnny came down the steps, trying to appear grown up, but he was just as pleased to see his father as Aurelie was to see her mother. Jack, sure that Phryne was steady on her feet, reached out for him and drew him into a hug.  
“Hello, son,” he grinned, “ok?”  
“Yes, thank you, pa,” he grinned back, “I have all my things in my new room, and a new grandfather.”  
“A new grandfather?” Jack raised his eyebrows.   
“Aha,” he nodded, “Lord Fisher asked me if I’d like to call him ‘grandfather’ – it is alright, isn’t it?”  
“Of course it is,” Jack picked up the suitcases, “what say you, Phryne?”  
“If it was father’s idea, why not,” she agreed, setting Aurelie down, “has he been round much?”  
“Most evenings, to read to Aurelie and play draughts with me. He talked with Jane, too. He stayed to dinner once too, but he got into trouble for that so didn’t do it again,” Johnny frowned, adults weren’t supposed to get into trouble like a child.  
“Ah,” Phryne nodded wisely, obviously her mother hadn’t bent at all. “Well, he’s good at that, but he’ll be alright.”

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Margaret wished she hadn’t come to Melbourne. Phryne had made, in her eyes, a disastrous match, Henry was out playing with those children every evening, and Prudence and she weren’t on speaking terms. But when Henry said he’d suggested that that copper’s boy call him ‘grandfather’ she was furious.  
“What on earth made you think that was a good idea?” she scowled.  
“He’s Phryne’s stepson, I can’t have him calling me ‘sir’ all the time, not with Aurelie calling me ‘grandpapa’,” he sat down and unfolded the paper, “they are our family, Margaret, like it or lump it, and I intend to try to be a better grandfather than I was a father.”  
“Henry,” she pulled the paper out of his hands, “the boy’s mother didn’t want him, she was a white slaver as was her father, Aurelie’s father wasn’t married to her mother and now Phryne has married a copper!”  
“Margaret, maybe you should try to get to know him, there’s more to him than meets the eye – in a good way,” he folded his arms, “no copper can afford those suits on his salary. My guess is he has independent means …”  
“Phryne probably buys them,” she hissed.  
“I doubt he’d let her, he’s a proud man, my dear, and honourable. After all he could have let his ex-father in law get away with the slavery thing, but he didn’t, even though he could have lost his position,” Henry reached for the paper, “now, why don’t we invite them to dine with us here, one evening, they’ll be back from their honeymoon soon.”  
“A week! A week!!” she shrieked, “a woman of Phryne’s standing should have a European tour for a honeymoon!”  
Henry just shook his head and opened the paper, again, he’d never win over this.

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Jack and Phryne told the family all about the house and the sheep ranch. How they had gone riding and had picnics and lit campfires to keep warm.  
“We thought we could take you, one day, if you’d like …” Jack sat back on the chaise, his arm around Phryne.  
“Maybe we could combine with your sister and her children, Jack,” Phryne suggested, “it would be good for Johnny to get to know his cousins …”  
“… and Aurelie,” he agreed, “good idea. I’ll have to request leave though, so it won’t be immediately.”  
“Perhaps in the summer …” Phryne raised her eyebrows.  
He knew what she was thinking, but he couldn’t promise Christmas at the ranch – not yet.

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With dinner over and the children in bed, Phryne and Jack took time to sit in the parlour and think on their new life ahead of them.  
“Nobody mentioned your mother coming round,” he murmured.  
“I don’t expect she did,” Phryne sighed, “I’m afraid that is a lost cause, but I’m glad father has made the move. I hope you don’t mind him wanting to be Johnny’s grandfather, you do know he can be a bit of a rake, don’t you?”  
“I think it is rather good of him, he can’t be any worse than his natural grandfather, George, as far as I am aware he doesn’t go in for white slavery, does he?”  
She shook her head, “no, bit of a gambler, a rather unsuccessful one in the past, but I must admit, when I took Aurelie there, after Paris, he seemed to have changed and he was a great help with mother wanting to marry me off. I wouldn’t look to him as a role model but he won’t hurt him, I don’t think.”  
“Right,” Jack finished his drink, “well I have an early start tomorrow,” he stood up and held out his hand to her, “come on, wife, time for bed.”  
She giggled, “thought you’d never ask.”

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She curled into him, thoroughly satisfied, pink and glowing. He put his arm round her and closed his eyes, this was perfect. He knew there would be times they would argue, see things differently but if they could keep their arguments out of the bedroom, then things would be fine. Their demons would creep out of the boxes they had been put in, from time to time, but they knew each other well enough to support the other through those times.  
Phryne sighed and drifted off to sleep, it was wonderful – being loved by Jack Robinson, in every way.


End file.
